Things Fall Apart
by sweet.aria
Summary: In the aftermath of her dramatic confession, Helga begins to withdraw. Rated M for content in later chapters
1. Things fall apart

**Title of the story and chapter come from William Butler Yeats' poem, "The Second Coming":** _Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;/Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world_ .

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Hey Arnold!" but Craig Bartlett does. Maybe I can trade him? **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 1: Things Fall Apart<span>**

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><p><em>Arnold Shortman<em>

_English Class_

_Mr. Simmons_

**_My Life Changing Moment_**

_Before now, I always thought that I would write about my parents. That was definitely life-changing. Even though I was little, I knew that something in my life was missing, something that Gerald and Stinky and the others had that I didn't: parents. Oh sure, I had Grandma and Grandpa, and all the boarders, but it didn't replace the parents I wanted. I grew up not knowing them. Sometimes, I resented them for that. It was like they didn't love me enough to stay. Or that I wasn't enough to love. _

Arnold stopped typing momentarily. He hadn't expected to write that.

He deleted it.

After a minute, he undid it and let it stand.

It was harsh, but true, and Mr. Simmons wanted truth, if nothing else.

_A couple years ago, I caught my Grandma staring at me strangely, as if she had never seen me before. I thought that maybe she had forgot who I was for a minute, like Nadine said her Grandfather gets. I got scared. When I asked her about it, Grandma gave me a sad smile and said, "Why, Kimba, you just reminded me of your dad just then."_

_I swallowed a lump in my throat. I couldn't breathe for a minute. Grandma and Grandpa…they just don't talk about them. Especially on THAT day. THAT day, Grandma actually bakes edible pies and calls me nothing but Arnold. Grandpa just disappears, and comes back late at night, wobbling as if he can't walk for some reason. He smells like cigarettes and something else. Sometimes, I can hear him yelling at no one. Other times, I can hear him crying all the way in my room and picture him keeled over on his knees, face in his hands, unable to stand. He only does that when he's alone, but the walls are thin, though. Everyone pretends not to hear it. Even Oskar. I don't know which is worse, the yelling or the crying._

_"Why did they leave, Grandma? Why couldn't they just have stayed?" I remember asking her in a strangled voice. I didn't recognize the sound of my voice or the sob that broke free. I didn't feel the tears slip down my cheeks until Grandma moved to wipe them away, or her arms that wrapped me in a warm hug. We stood in silence for a minute_

_"That's a question only they can answer," she replied after a while. _

_"Grandma?" I asked timidly. _

_"Yes Kimba?" _

_"Sometimes…sometimes I wish I was just like the other kids," I admitted. "Is that bad?" I didn't want to look at her. Grandma hugged me tighter. "Kimba," she said, "Things are rough all over."_

_I never forgot that. I thought that maybe she was just saying that to make me feel better, even though I didn't really know what she was talking about. I think that it wasn't until now that I really understood what she was saying. _

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><p>Arnold stopped and reread what he wrote. His fingers hovered above the keys, hesitating. They moved, flowing quickly before he could change his mind.<p>

_That's why I want to write about Helga._

Arnold paused again, wondering where to start. He sat for a minute, and then looked at the length of pink ribbon on his desk. He rubbed it, feeling the smooth satin between his fingers. If he smelled it, he knew it would flood his nose with the scent of lavender and vanilla…and, for whatever reason (he was probably making this up), very faintly of pork rinds. Arnold smiled, stretched out his arms, shook his hands, and settled in to type his story.

_Looking back, things began to fall apart after the neighborhood was saved…_

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><p><strong>Sorry if the spacing and formatting is off; I am still trying to figure it out. Sooo...interested? On the edge of your seat? Or at least rubbing your hands in anticipation? Questions and comments are greatly appreciated...so review! This is my first fanfic and I need all the constructive criticism I can get. Especially about this spacing issue =]<strong>

**Extra brownie points to those who can spot a hidden literary reference!  
><strong>


	2. Reunited and it feels so good?

**A/N: Thanks for being patient, dear readers. And thank you for the reviews on the last chapter! I was so flattered =]...sorry for the delay. These past few weeks have been hard: school, family issues, and dance practice have been brutal. Oh, and my lappytop crashed, so I had to start over from scratch. It was a real struggle to get this out there. I think the chapter's so much better for it, though, even though it takes the story in a completely different direction. We shall see where it goes! Oh, and the title comes from the song "Reunited" by Peaches and Herb (I think…fact check me on it) and I don't own the title.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! =[**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Reunited and it feels so good?<strong>

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><p>"Hey Arnold!" Gerald exclaimed upon seeing his friend waiting for him on the corner, a huge smile on his face. The two had not got a chance to hang out most of the summer. For Arnold, it had been a long one, and he was happy to see a familiar face again. The dark skinned boy's tall stack of hair had only grown taller and threatened to topple over, or it could have seemed that way since Gerald apparently grew a couple of inches. Arnold felt a small pang of envy over that; he had only grown half of an inch. Gerald still sported his red jersey shirt and ran over to Arnold.<p>

"Hey Gerald," Arnold replied, grinning back. The two did their handshake, then began to walk to school together. Gerald pointed out small changes to the neighborhood along the way, such as Green Meats getting a new sign, or Slausen's new milkshake flavor. Arnold's green eyes drank it all in. He hadn't realized that he missed the neighborhood this much while he was gone.

Gerald shook his head. "Man, can you believe that we're fifth graders? One more year then we'll be sixth graders, then middle school, then high school, then college…" he trailed off.

Arnold rolled his eyes. "Gerald, it's the first day. We've got awhile," he said dryly.

"Yeah, but it supposedly goes by so fast," Gerald countered. "That's what THEY say."

Arnold shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Doesn't seem like it to me. Especially this summer. It dragged on and on for me. I'm almost glad to get back to school." Gerald looked at him in mock horror. "I said _almost!_" Arnold laughed.

"Well, you were at Arnie's house," Gerald chuckled, his chocolate brown eyes shining. "Why did your grandparents send you there for a month?" Arnold shrugged again. "Something about getting to know my mom's family. All I really found out was how high dirt could be piled. And that everyone has a collection. Arnie's got his lint collection, Aunt May has a roomful of porcelain dolls, and Uncle Dorian collects hair."

"Hair." Gerald stated flatly, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, hair. He's the only barber in town, so its not too hard, I guess. He has hundreds of locks. I'm pretty sure that he got mine somehow, even though I never got a haircut." Arnold shuddered, fingering his dark blond hair. He used to examine it every night before bed to make sure that none had gone missing, and avoided his uncle, who was prone to carry around scissors and randomly snip into the air. "He saw a picture of you and started to talk about how you just _had_to come for a visit."

Gerald shook his head ruefully. "Wow, that's all kinds of crazy, man." He fingered his own curly black hair protectively. "No one gets near the stack. Except the ladies," he said grinning. Gerald hadn't gave up on the notion that he was a lady's man.

Arnold sighed at the memory. "Especially when I had to run and hide in the barn for hours when Uncle Dorian got the bright idea that I should have that Jesse Beaver haircut. I'm just glad to be back, Gerald." Arnold smiled happily. "What happened while I was gone?"

"Well, to be honest, it was really quiet," Gerald started. "Stinky went back to Arkansas to visit relatives and so did Lila." He shot Arnold a look. Arnold tried to look his most innocent, but ended up grinning. He couldn't help it if he still held a small torch for the beautiful redhead. Gerald rolled his eyes and continued. "Phoebe went to science camp. Rhonda spent the summer in Paris and took Nadine. Harold's parents made him go to summer school. Sheena and Eugene went to some camp for singing. Me and Sid hung out until I had to go on a family vacation, and believe me, spending 10hrs in a car w/ both Timberly and Jamie-o was horrible." It was Gerald's turn to shudder. "The car stunk and somehow I got stuck in the middle. Either I was getting whaled on with a Barbie or struggling to breathe because I was in a headlock. And the sing-alongs…" He shuddered again.

Arnold chuckled. He did not envy Gerald one bit. Gerald joined in, then said "But, everyone came back together last week, and we played some football in Gerald Field. Good times, man. Too bad you weren't there. It was a good game, but we definitely need to practice before the first game.

Arnold nodded. "I wish I was…definitely beats hearing Arnie read ingredients." He paused, then asked as nonchalantly as he could, "Um…so, what about Helga? What was she up to this summer?" He hoped that he wasn't blushing; thinking about Helga these days always brought him back the the FTi roof and that kiss.

"I don't know, man." Gerald shrugged. "Phoebe said something about Big Bob shipping her off to North Carolina or something like that for the summer, but she was supposed to be back. She didn't show up for the game, so I guess we thought she was still gone. Whatever, it was nice without her. Peaceful." He eyed Arnold suspiciously, seeing his friend go half-lidded, which was a dangerous sign in Gerald's opinion. "Why so curious?"

"Just wondering," Arnold lied smoothly. He had a lot of practice lying lately when it came to Helga, whether it was to sidestep Arnie's questions about the blonde girl, or to himself late at night when he was alone and his thoughts floated around unchecked.

Helga. Arnold inwardly sighed with frustration. She was like this puzzle to Arnold. Not one of those stupid easy ones of Elmo or something that Timberly was constantly having trouble with, all five stupid pieces of it. More like the ones that had hundreds of pieces. His Grandma was constantly working on one, laboriously putting together the outline, and it always surprised Arnold that she could make a picture out of the pile of jumbled pieces. With Helga, Arnold felt like he was only seeing the edges and the whole picture eluded him. There was no box with a picture to guide him; all he had were scraps of clues gathered together over the years that he tried to make fit, but the gaps remained. Arnold still couldn't help trying to solve her, though. Especially after that rooftop confession; he was unsure where it fit. After everything was over, he realized that he couldn't just leave it at "the heat of the moment," even though she seemed more than willing. The problem was, Arnold realized, that if he talked to her about it, he would have to explain how he felt and he didn't know.

The boys walked on in comfortable silence, the din of the city around them. Arnold had missed it, realized he couldn't sleep without it. He knew that he was a city boy, through and through.

"Gerald? What do you think 5th grade will be like?" Arnold questioned.

The taller boy took his time answering. "I asked Jamie-O and he said that its when people start to change a lot," Gerald confessed, glancing at Arnold.

"Like how?"

Gerald looked glum. "Well people get braces, or grow taller, or…girls…grow. And Jamie-O said that some kids moved away. And the work was harder. Something about taking pre-Algebra and current events and stuff." Gerald brightened. "Oh! And we get to take the 5th grade trip too!"

"I thought only 6th graders took a trip." Arnold said, feeling confused. Every year, the sixth graders took a trip to Canada and his class had been looking forward to it for years.

"5th graders do too. It's just for a weekend though. I don't know where, since apparently it changes every year." Gerald replied. Arnold nodded. "That's still cool."

The boys finally reached the school. PS 118, a tall red bricked building, hadn't changed a bit. Arnold looked around the schoolyard and could tell the sixth graders, tall and confident in their status as rulers of the school, from the little first graders that looked around nervously. Beside him, Gerald puffed out his chest and begin to announce "Today is a day of new beginnings. The start of a new era. A new world! A new…"

"Gerald. It's the first day." Arnold reminded him. "And we're not even at the top yet."

Gerald waved him off. "Can't you feel it in the air! Something big is gonna happen! Something major!" His eyes gleamed almost manically in their fervor.

Across the schoolyard, Eugene tripped over his untied shoelaces and proceeded to roll down the slide, landing face-first in the sand. His arm was bent at an extremely awkward angle. "I'm okay," Eugene yelled weakly, lifting his head. "But can someone call the nurse?" Sheena rushed over to him, but when she saw his arm, fainted on sight and landed beside him.

"Like that?" Arnold said, holding back his chuckle for his friends' sake.

Gerald deflated. "Yeah, that was probably it."

Arnold smiled and patted his back. "Let's go, Gerald."

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><p>Since Mr. Simmons was their teacher again this year-he had been switched to fifth grade and was delighted that he could teach his "special" students for another year-the pair took their old seats by sheer habit. Arnold looked around and saw that everyone else had did the same. He cautiously glanced behind him, but didn't see Helga glowering at him as usual.<p>

Arnold looked around the classroom for her, but couldn't find the blonde. He glanced at the clock and saw that there was only 2 minutes before the bell rang and she wasn't here yet.

That was odd.

By now, Arnold expected to have already collided into her in the hallway, gotten tripped, pinched or poked by her, and endured at least 10 spitballs from Helga. In a strange way, Arnold kind of missed it. He turned to Phoebe.

"Phoebe, have you seen Helga?" Arnold asked. Phoebe shook her head. "No…I waited by the bus stop as she requested, but she failed to show, so I walked to school by myself. I believe that more than likely, she has failed to wake up on time and that is the reason for her near tardiness." Phoebe looked at him curiously. "Why do you ask?" she said softly.

Arnold slightly blushed. _ Ugh, I can feel it! Stupid blush,_ Arnold thought. He bit his lip nervously. He hadn't expected that question. "I-I-I just wondered…it's a little too quiet around here. And I have to ask her something. That's all, yeah, I just had to ask her something." He abruptly stopped rambling, feeling his face get hotter. _"What's wrong with me?"_ Arnold thought. "_It's just a simple question."_

Phoebe smiled at him, looking at him as if she could read his thoughts. "She should be here momentarily." She turned her attention back to Gerald, who was telling Phoebe about finding out the mysterious collector was Scheck himself. "Arnold didn't believe me, so I had to convince him to go…"

Arnold snorted. _"Exaggerating much? Whatever helps him sleep at night…or impress Phoebe," _he thought, as he saw that she was hanging onto every word that his best friend said. Arnold's attention turned to the door, and waited for Helga to show.

...

8:00-No Helga. "_She'll be here soon," _he thought, tapping his pencil rapidly. _"She probably just overslept. Any minute…"_

…

9:30-No Helga. _"Maybe she had a doctor's appointment? It IS flu season…or something like that." _Arnold sighed.

…

10am rolled around. It was almost lunchtime, and Arnold was getting worried. There was this sick feeling in his stomach and a weird feeling he couldn't shake. Kind of like when he thought he could hear something that Gerald or no one else could hear. He was just about to ask Phoebe for the millionth time if Helga wasn't sick, or had a doctor's appointment, or had to go out of town, or was skipping, when she walked through the door.

She looked…different.

Arnold always thought of Helga as this massive blur of pink and fists, but this Helga was wearing a black turtleneck, jeans, and Converse shoes instead of her usual pink jumper and white shoes. Her blond hair was swept up in a messy, tangly ponytail, and her trademark pink bow was missing. Arnold felt a twist in his stomach he couldn't explain. As long as he had known her, Helga had worn a pink bow in her hair. Seeing she was without it was…wrong, somehow. It was distinctly _Helga._

Helga handed Mr. Simmons a note and quietly went to her seat, eyes on the floor. As she passed Arnold, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. She turned and locked eyes with Arnold, a mixture of confusion and weariness on her face. "Helga, where were you?" he whispered, his eyes searching her blue ones.

Helga shook her head. "Nowhere," she whispered, and started to pull away from him, but Arnold's grip tightened. A look of pain flashed on her face, and Arnold immediately dropped her wrist. "Sorry, Helga. Where's your bow?" he demanded. He didn't know why, he just had to know. Helga looked at him blankly. "Gone," she replied quietly. She continued to her desk and sat in it, eyes straight ahead, never looking at him. No insults, not even a peep. Not even a spitball.

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><p><strong>Again, reviews are MUCH appreciated! The next chapter should be up in a couple of days; I need to edit and I may change some things depending on reviews. <strong>


	3. Blue in Green

**A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews! You make me blush, dear readers. Title of the story comes from Miles Davis' song "Blue in Green" and doesn't belong to me. I was listening to it as I wrote this chapter and thought the title would be a good fit. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!-Craig Bartlett does- but I sure wish I did. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Blue in Green<strong>

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><p>"…and then, she had the nerve to blame it on me! And my parents believed her, even though they <em>knew<em> I was gone!" Gerald ranted, red in the face. Spittle flew from his lips, landing on Arnold.

"Uh-huh…you don't say," Arnold said. He absently wiped his cheek, not paying attention to Gerald's outrage at Timberly's latest antics over lunch. Arnold's eyes were glued to Helga, who was sitting at the next table over with Phoebe. Her lunchbox was untouched, and she was talking with Phoebe. _"Did she already eat?" _Arnold thought back to last year, when he saw her open her lunchbox and learned it contained a small bottle of hand sanitizer and a single box of Nerds in it. Neither were particularly appetizing, obviously. She had just looked at it, and then shoved it away. Phoebe shared her lunch with her, but Helga hadn't really touched it. Arnold remember feeling so _angry_ that day that he literally squeezed his orange into a pulp. He hadn't noticed until he felt Gerald shaking him and giving him a strange look after seeing his face. Gerald, after the spelling test later that afternoon, described his expression as almost feral. "I used it as my sentence for that word," he had snickered. Funny, he could almost hear Gerald's voice in his mind…

"Arnold! Hey Arnold!" Arnold snapped back to reality. Gerald wore an annoyed expression. "Did you hear anything? I asked you if you wanted to come over to my house and watch 'Yo Ernest!' with me. Timberly will be gone to her dance class."

"Uh…" Arnold paused. "I don't know."

"Huh?" Gerald said, surprised. "We ALWAYS watch 'Yo Ernest!' after school. It's _tradition_." He stressed. Gerald was big on traditions.

"Yeah, I know Gerald…it's just…doesn't Helga seem funny to you today?" Arnold questioned. Gerald gave him a puzzled look, and then shrugged. "I don't know. She hasn't launched any spitballs at you and generally stayed out of your way, so why complain?" He turned back to the grey mystery meat on his plate, giving it a tentative poke with his fork. It moved, bending into a funny shape. Gerald decided not to eat it for safety's sake.

"I don't know, Gerald," Arnold continued. "It's weird. Do you think I should talk to her? She's not even eating lunch. What if she doesn't-"

Gerald interrupted, shoveling some mashed potatoes in his mouth. "Does it really matter? Why do you sound like you actually care about her? This is HELGA we're talking about! She'll be fine. Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers will see to it, if anything." His fork waved around in the air as he talked, emphasizing his point.

Arnold shot him a reproachful look, then stood up suddenly. "I'm gonna talk to her Gerald."

Gerald shook his head. "You're a bold kid, Arnold. Bold, I tell ya! Well, I'll be watching in case you need backup…or need to be dragged away in a bloody mess." He shivered, remembering the end of the last school year when Harold decided to steal Helga's Tapioca pudding. His face was _still_ messed up.

Arnold shrugged. "I'll be ok," he replied, definitely not feeling as nonchalant as he tried to sound. On a whim, he brought half of his sandwich with him. He knew she liked pastrami on rye.

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><p>Arnold made his way to Helga's table. As he got closer, he could hear snippets of their conversation and see Phoebe gesturing wildly over what she was saying.<p>

"But you can't give up, Helga!" He heard Phoebe squeaked indignantly. "You love… ice cream way too much to just stop wanting to eat it! And…ice cream frequently inquired about your whereabouts this morning! In a way that indicated something besides curiosity! Do you not care about this recent development?" Arnold saw Helga shrug in response, a defeated look in her eyes. Apparently, this enraged Phoebe. "Get ahold of yourself, woman!" she shrieked, shaking Helga by the shoulders rather violently. "Geez, Pheebs, give me shaken baby syndrome, why don'tcha?" she muttered, rolling her eyes and scraping her chair away for safety's sake.

Arnold stopped, but the girls were so engrossed in their conversation- if by conversation you mean Phoebe uncharacteristically flipping her lid while Helga sat impassively. He shuffled from foot to foot, then cleared his throat. "Uh…are you lactose intolerant, Helga? I didn't know that." Arnold said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. Both of the girls' heads snapped up and looked at him, causing him to take a step back or two at the intensity of their stares. Helga was slumped against her seat, arms folded, eyes down. Phoebe's eyes were bright, her usually neat hair wildly pointing in odd directions.

Helga shrugged again. "Sure…let's go with that. It doesn't agree with me, Arnold, so I'm gonna quit trying. It's _obvious_ that IT DOESN'T LIKE ME," Helga snapped, glaring at Phoebe as she said this, who didn't shrink away and glared angrily back instead. Helga was the first to turn her head away. Arnold scratched his head. "Uh…I feel like I'm missing something…is this a bad time?" he said. Phoebe shook her head. "No, it's not. I was just…um… going to consult with Gerald about something," she murmured, a pink tinge coloring her cheeks. She smoothed her hair down, gave Helga a Look, then slipped away and left the pair alone. Arnold could hear Gerald's excited, "Hey!" and then, "I mean, what's crackin', babe?" in a much lower voice, obviously copied from his brother Jamie-O. Arnold held back a chuckle at his friend's expense. Gerald was so _not _as smooth as he thought.

He slid into Phoebe's seat and turned to look at her, propping his massive head on his hand. The sandwich sat between them. Helga avoided his eyes and stared at the table, arms crossed. An uncomfortable silence settled.

"Uh…I brought you some of my sandwich just in case you didn't, um, like what was in your lunchbox. It's pastrami on rye and you like that a lot, right?" he paused, trying unsuccessfully to gauge her reaction. "And, I just wanted to say thanks for helping me and Gerald save the neighborhood," Arnold continued. "It meant a lot to me, and we couldn't have done it without you and I know it wasn't easy to go against your dad…are you crying?" he stopped abruptly and peered at her eyes. Helga's blue orbs looked bright and glassy. Helga shook her head. "No. I'm just tired," she whispered, rubbing her eyes vigorously.

Arnold frowned. "Um…okay," he said, letting the lie stand. "Why were you late? And why aren't you wearing your bow?"

Helga finally looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "I was late because I overslept. I don't like the bow anymore. I threw it away. That satisfy your inquiring mind?" she said in a tired voice that Arnold had never heard coming from her and disliked immediately.

"No," Arnold confessed. He stopped, unsure whether or not to continue. "It's just…I just miss it." He blushed at the admission. She looked at him for a moment curiously, and then at Phoebe, who was shooting an "I TOLD you so" look at her best friend. Helga glanced at the floor again. "Well, don't then. It's gone." She muttered, then peered at him. "Why are you so concerned about me anyway? It's not like you care," she snorted, shaking her head derisively.

"Is it so weird for you to think that I care?" Arnold questioned, surprised at her statement. He knew they weren't the best of friends, but she had to know that he did care for her. More than he had though, Arnold realized as he sat with her. "I really do, I want to help you," he said earnestly, placing a hand on her shoulder. He felt her stiffen under the touch. Arnold gently lifted her chin with his other hand, meeting her eyes with his own. "You can talk to me," he said with a small reassuring smile.

The pair stared at each other for a while, eyes locked. "No…I can't, Arnold. I just can't," she whispered, a small tear rolling down her cheek. Arnold's green eyes widened. Seeing her cry tugged at his heart in ways he didn't understand. Arnold fought the sudden instinct to wrap her in his arms, and say soothing things in her ear but settled for wiping her tear away with his thumb. He gently caressed her cheek, licked his suddenly dry lips, felt his heart quicken to double, no, almost triple time. Arnold stared into her eyes, blue in green. Words unspoken traveled between them like an unspoken link in a low, pulsating hum. He knew Helga could feel it too, could feel it pulling them closer, so slowly, inch by painful inch, until he felt Helga crack and smack his hand away.

"Why…why did you do that?" she hissed. He could feel her shuddery, shallow breaths. "I don't know," he replied quickly. Arnold could feel her anger boiling, coming over him in pounding waves. "Answer me," Helga demanded, her eyes narrowing. "Who said you could touch me like that?"

He bit his lip, unsure how to respond. Helga shook her head. "Right." She said, as if it answered some unspoken question. In one motion, she abruptly stood up and walking quickly away, pushing Stinky out of the way as she exited the cafeteria. Stinky started ranting over the loss of his precious lemon pudding, but Arnold paid no attention. He stared after her, rooted to his spot and trying to process what just happened. A voice floated through his mind: _What are you doing? Go after her!_ There was no way he could leave her like this. He quickly followed her wake and had just reached the double when he was stopped by a small hand pulling his arm back.

"Don't, Arnold," Phoebe said quietly, coming to stand beside him, Gerald not far behind. "She's…going through some things, I think. Just leave her be for a while and she'll come around. In her own way. " She looked from Arnold to Gerald. "Shall we head back to class?" she asked them. Gerald nodded mutely, still trying to recover the sight of his friend almost kissing Helga.

Arnold sighed, then made his way to the classroom with his friends. His hand itched with the sudden urge to write.

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><p><em>I guess I thought that when she walked in without her bow that day, something was wrong and I wanted to find out. And when she cried that day in the cafeteria, I knew it was serious business. I mean…Helga NEVER cries. One time, last year, she accidentally stepped on a nail when we were playing baseball in Gerald Field. Yes, it's named after Gerald Johanssen. Anyway, we were playing against the 6<em>_th__ graders and were winning. Bottom of the 9__th__ and the score was tied. Helga stepped up to bat, slammed a homer on the first swing and then tore to first. She was almost there, and then she screamed and stopped dead in her tracks. She looked down and saw the huge nail in her foot. I could see her eyes widen. She turned to Phoebe, said, "There's a nail in my foot, Pheebs. Get a doctor, will ya?" Like in the same voice she would ask Phoebe to pass the mustard or something. _

_ Phoebe screamed for someone to run for a doctor or something, then ran over to Helga's side. Then she ordered the crowd that was forming around Helga to back away, and demanded that someone get her some rags or something to stop the bleeding. I think I handed her my sweater. Or maybe one of the 6__th__ graders took off their shirt. I don't remember. I do remember Rhonda fainting. And Harold tossing his cookies in the outfield. Helga by now was just sitting in the dirt, very still. Very pale. She was shaking and sweating. But she didn't cry. _

_Me and Gerald and Phoebe visited her in the hospital later on. Gerald looked at her in the eye, and said, "You're a brave kid, Helga G. Pataki." Helga had laughed, smiled, and even said thank you. She wasn't rude or anything. Everyone talked about that for a while. Even the 6__th__ graders were impressed, I think, that she didn't cry_

_Anyway, seeing her crying in the cafeteria made me scared. Really scared. _

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, I know that Helga is way OOC but b/c of the way that the story is, she's going to remain OOC. It'll all make sense in like…3 chapters. Maybe. Probably. **_**If**_** the story acts right and does what I tell it to and not insist that it's right all the time. *glares at story* **

**Thank you again for your kind reviews, I look forward to them oh so much =]  
><strong>


	4. Yet Another Special Assignment

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I'm glad to see that you all believe that Helga is in character, despite her demeanor. This chapter sheds a little bit more light on her situation as well as explains the assigment.**

Disclaimer: HA! is not mine, but the intellectual property of Craig Bartlett and Nickelodeon.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: Yet another "Special" assignment<strong>

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><p>The scene in the cafeteria last week had unnerved Arnold, and Helga's behavior hadn't changed at all. Arnold had not seen her pull out Ol' Betsy in a while, even when Harold taunted her. She just shot him a deathly glare and walked away. Yesterday, Brainy began to hyperventilate and had to be taken to the nurse's office; apparently, he was suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Arnold was a little unclear on <em>what<em> he was withdrawing from, or what it _was,_ but he and Gerald saw him walking home one day repeatedly punching himself in the face, sighing almost contentedly after each punch. Gerald had shaken his head ruefully. "Mmm, mmm. That kid is a _strange_ one," he muttered in a low singsong voice out of the side of his mouth to Arnold, who couldn't help to agree.

They had walked on, on the way to Gerald Field for a game. "Gerald?" Arnold questioned. His best friend looked at him. Both boys stopped walking. Arnold took a deep breath and continued. "Um…I'm really concerned about Helga. She's too quiet."

"You worried that she's planning something big? I wouldn't put it past Pataki." Gerald snorted and started to continue down the street, but Arnold grabbed his arm.

"No…wait a minute, Gerald. Stop. I'm serious. It's a bad kind of quiet. Like something's really wrong. I just know it, I can feel it." Arnold smiled a little. "I almost kind of miss the old Helga."

_*SMACK!*_

"_Gerald!"_ Arnold held his cheek gingerly. "What the heck was that for?"

"To knock some sense into you, man! It's not _normal_ for you to miss her bullying! Aren't you always saying that she's a good person underneath? That she has a soft, chewy center like the rest of us? Well, this is her showing it, so stop questioning it!" Gerald yelled. He shook out his hand, hopping from one foot to another from the stinging pain in his hand.

"Soft chewy center?" Arnold chuckled. "That's funny …yet strangely accurate. Gerald, she's not a Tootsie pop…but… I bet she's probably sweet like one," Arnold said, going half-lidded and gazing off into space, not even realizing he said that out loud. That was one of his secret thoughts that he usually had at night. What was it doing here, out in the cold light of day?

*_SMACK!*_

"_GERALD!_"

"Sorry, man, but you worry me!" Gerald's chocolate brown eyes looked at his friend, genuinely concern showing through. "You have been wondering about her for the past week…always talking about her and stuff, _looking_ at her, and that, that almost _kiss _in the cafeteria-and don't deny it because I saw it, man! _I saw it_!,And…and now you just said that she's…" here, Gerald twisted his face in pure disgust, "…sweet like a friggin' Tootsie pop! What kind of _sick twisted thought_ is that? And now? And now, you _just now you had that expression on your face!_" Gerald paused to catch his breath, his face red with exertion. The usually neat stack of hair Gerald sported was now sticking out haphazardly.

"What expression?" Arnold asked innocently. The whole right side of his face burned.

He narrowed his eyes. "That goofy, half-lidded expression you get! Lila got it and so did Ruth…if I didn't know any better, I would say you like-liked her." Gerald folded his arms, waiting for the denial.

Silence.

"Arnold…"

Silence.

"ARNOLD!" Gerald raised his hand. "_Do you want another five across the face_? Don't make me do it again!"

"Okay, okay, geez!" Arnold sighed. "I don't like-like her…at least I don't know if I do." Arnold added honestly, then ducked, narrowly missing Gerald's hand again, which caught his blue hat instead. "Besides, there's other stuff I can't explain to you."

"Like what?" Gerald questioned. Arnold momentarily forgot he hadn't told Gerald about what happened on the rooftop of the FTi building. He bent over and picked up the cap and placed it on his head. "I can't explain it because I don't know how." He quickly thought of something he was willing to tell Gerald. "Like I said, something's wrong. You know how sometimes I think I hear stuff that you can't hear? Just out of the blue?"

"Yeah…" Gerald replied, folding his arms and looking at his friend with narrowed eyes.

"Well, it's like that. But at night, mostly. And I wake up hurting, and aching. These weird marks show up on me, too." Arnold pushed up his sweater sleeve and revealed a faint reddish mark for Gerald to inspect. "And I'm scared, I can feel it. And…call me crazy, but I think it has something to do with Helga." Arnold rubbed the back of his neck and gazed up at Gerald.

Gerald stared at him, not knowing what to make of any of it. He took a big breath and blew it out.

"I don't know, man. I don't know. Just talk to her. If you feel you have to." Gerald looked at his friend further, then shook his head again. "C'mon Arnold, we got a game to get to."

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><p>Later the next day, Mr. Simmons bounced eagerly into the classroom and began to talk about the "special" projects that he was so eager for them to start. When the class had settled in, he eyed the students, excitement shining in his eyes. "This assignment is a doozy. It has two parts…wait, don't groan! You don't even know what it is yet!" He shook his head at Harold, who had been the loudest, and continued. "First, I want you to pick a hero or heroine, or even an event. A world changer, someone or something that shaped the world we live in today," Mr. Simmons paced back and forth in front of his students. "If you pick a person, they don't have to be famous, like MLK, but someone like Rachel Carson, who may not be as well known, would do quite nicely."<p>

"Who the heck is Rachel Carson?" Stinky drawled. His eyes were lazily following Simmons and growing quite dizzy.

Mr. Simmons beamed at the question. "Well Stinky, guess you'll have to find out for yourself! She can be _your_ special person to research!"

"Aww, shucks!" Stinky muttered under his breath. Sid and Harold snickered quietly behind him.

Mr. Simmons paused and surveyed the class. "How long do you think it takes to change a life?" he asked. He sat back and waited from responses.

"A week, obviously," Rhonda stated haughtily, pausing long enough from her nail filing to take the bait and answer first. "Mine changes every time Fashion Week approaches." She smiled absently, envisioning the runway shows that Daddy had _promised_ to take her to this year if her grades were good.

"Wouldn't it depend on how long it takes for the government to agree on a bill? Or for a jury to decide a verdict?" Phoebe asked Mr. Simmons. Her mind was already made up on probably examining _Brown v. Board of Education_ or something similar.

"Nah, more like a quarter," Gerald replied, flashing Phoebe a smile, causing her to flush pink with pleasure at his attention. "Sometimes, it all comes down to that last quarter, when the score is tied and you've got to pull ahead to win it."

Mr. Simmons smiled. "All good answers, and all of them right. Sometimes, it only takes mere seconds to change the course of a life forever, people," Mr. Simmons said quietly. He stopped pacing and leaned against his desk, arms folded. "I want you to really study their lives, and study their motivations, emotions, their hearts. Ask yourself, _why_ did they do it? What was to gain? To lose? And then, I want you write about your own special life changing moment."

"Would you not change a thing? Or would you do it differently? Or not at all?" he asked. "Examine yourselves, dear hearts. You're not too young to start thinking about these things. Some of you have already experienced what I'm talking about." His eyes sought out Arnold's, no doubt thinking about the events only a few weeks prior. "These are the questions that shape our lives, which become history, _your_ history," Simmons continued. "Make the answers count."

Mr. Simmons kept talking, but his voice faded into the background for Arnold, whose hand gingerly moved to touch his lips, remembering that kiss. It was burned into his memory, now. He was certain that it was one of those life-changing moments that Simmons was going on about. It was his first real kiss. Yes, there was the play, but that was scripted and he knew it was going to happen. The kiss he and Helga shared was unexpected, and passionate, and warm and everything he thought a real kiss should be. It felt like one he would see in a movie or something.

Arnold sighed and put his head down on his desk. Part of him wished it never happened; he would have bobbed and weaved his oblong shaped head to avoid it like the plague if he knew that the fallout would be Helga completely changing her personality. He never wanted that to happen, ever. That was the only thing that Arnold could think of for Helga to make such a drastic change; he didn't outright reject her, but gave her an out.

But…

But, if he was _completely_ honest, it was to give himself an out, too.

Kissing Helga complicated things in a way he wasn't ready for because it made all these questions bubble up inside his brain. Does that mean that if he didn't love her back, they couldn't be friends? He considered her change in behavior and thought about how it answered his question.

Arnold didn't like this, because he didn't _know_ what love was. How would he know? Not for the first time since the FTi incident happened, Arnold wished his dad was around to ask about this. Surely he was in love with his mom and could tell him what it felt like. Sometimes, Arnold sneaked into his grandparents room and stared at the few remaining photographs of his parents. The way that they looked at each other…he didn't look at Helga like that. And he knew that he should, _if _ he was in love with her, or even like-liked much he knew. But then, Arnold would think about how he felt around Lila, or Ruth, and how close it sometimes (only sometimes!) was to how he felt about Helga. Like that…but more intense somehow, more raw.

"_What…what does it mean if I liked it? Really liked it?"_ he would think sometimes, that being the most asked one of all. Arnold would lay in bed at night sometimes and think about Helga's lips. They were so full and soft, and tasted like…well, he couldn't place it, but it was like a sweet that he had never tasted before yet felt so familiar. Those lips tasted so much better than the cotton pillow that he secretly used to practice kissing when he was sure that Lila liked him.

Then, he would quickly push the half-answered response out of his brain. Arnold really didn't want to answer that, he reasoned.

But…

But, if he were _completely_ honest with himself, he had to admit, that sometimes…mostly after he would wake up from one of his particularly vivid dreams of him and Helga kissing, and kissing a lot…sometimes, he thought that he _did_ want to know; that if he could go back, he would be ready for those hungry lips with his own.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The assignment Mr. Simmons talks about comes directly from a lesson plan that I created and used last year. It was really successful, and I'm pretty proud of it. I'm glad I used it in the story, because, well, it's **_**special!**_

**Read and review, dear ones! The next update will be Sunday, I think. Check out my new one-shot, "Stay with me tonight," if you need something to hold you over =] **


	5. Your Hair Looked Lonely

**A/N: Just wanted to thank everyone for the reviews. I really appreciate them. I got finished early, so you get to read it early! Things that were hinted at becomes a little more apparent...  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! It is the property of Nickelodeon and Craig Bartlett. I don't own "Lost," which is property of ABC and JJ Abrams. I also do not own "The Outsiders," which is owned by S.E. Hinton.  
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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Your Hair Looked Lonely<br>**

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><p>"Arnold…Arnold…Arnold!" a voice interrupted his thoughts. Arnold came to and saw that he was in the classroom with everyone staring at him, except Helga.<p>

"Huh?" Arnold said, thoroughly confused. Sid and Stinky snickered on the other side of the classroom. Mr. Simmons ignored them.

"Arnold, I've been calling your name for five minutes now. Do you need to see a nurse?" His face held a look of concern; Arnold usually was one of the most attentive students in the class.

"No, I'm fine Mr. Simmons. I'm sorry." Arnold replied hastily, blushing with embarrassment. Mr. Simmons held his gaze for a moment longer, then sighed. "Arnold, I was telling the class that we are interviewing each other for a portion of the assignment. Your partner is Helga. She'll fill you in on the assignment."

Arnold smiled. "Ok, Mr. Simmons." This was the perfect opportunity to talk to Helga again. He turned and walked towards her desk. She was preoccupied, writing in a black notebook with such intensity that Arnold couldn't help but watch for a moment. He couldn't stop staring at her lips; they looked so soft and full as she paused and chewed on the end of her purple pen, silently mouthing words around it as if searching for that elusive word that would complete whatever she was writing.

"Hey, Helga," he said softly, "can I read it when you're done?"

Helga immediately froze and the glare that followed gave him his answer. "Um….maybe later?" he tried again. Her face didn't change. "Alright then," he muttered under his breath and moved to drag a desk closer to hers. Helga closed her notebook, slipped it into her desk, and drummed her fingers on the desktop as she waited for him to get settled.

"So…what's the assignment?" Arnold asked, then winced. He didn't mean to sound like a slacker. Helga apparently didn't notice. "It's to interview each other on a life changing moment in our life. Here's the worksheet for it," she said in a monotone and handed Arnold the assignment sheet. He briefly glanced over it and nodded. "Oh. Um…how do we choose just one?" he wondered aloud.

"I don't know, Arnold." she replied impatiently. "Probably the most important one." Her eyes were glued to her desk, purposefully avoiding his.

"Not football head?" Arnold asked, almost hopefully.

"Huh?" Helga looked confused. She looked up at him for a second with her wide blue eyes, then dropped them down to his desk.

He sighed. "Never mind," he muttered bitterly and rested his forehead on the cool desk.

A silence fell over the two. Finally, Helga spoke up. "Why don't we just brainstorm to come up with the best one, alright?" Arnold looked up and smiled brightly. "Sounds good! I was thinking about the one time when Mr. Huynh's daughter came ho-"

"I meant silently." Her voice cut him off.

"Why?" Arnold demanded, tired of her silence, tired of, well…everything. He decided he was going to make her talk.

"Because." Helga said simply. She looked at a point above his shoulder, above his head, everywhere but him.

"Not good enough," Arnold rejected her answer. He folded his arms and glared at her, settling in for an argument. Her mouth dropped open, apparently shocked at his refusal. "Excuse me?" she hissed, glaring at him.

"'Because' is not a good enough answer, Helga," he smirked at her reaction. This was the most attention she had given him since the start of the school year, and he was going to relish it, however fleeting it may be. '_Bad attention is better than nothing,'_ he reasoned.

"Well that's all you're gonna get," she snapped back and gave him a glare of her own. The two sat in tense silence until Mr. Simmons called the class to attention. "Class! Class, take about 5 minutes to wrap up, then prepare for dismissal please."

Arnold turned to Helga. "Helga, why don't we meet after school to finish up?"

She shrugged. "Fine, whatever."

Arnold continued. "My house can be really hectic and Grandma has been watching "Lost" again, so we've been eating a lot of fish and coconuts and kelp and she keeps screaming about it not being Penny's boat…" he stopped as he was met with Helga's confused stare. "Oh, uh, you don't watch it…heh, heh…how about your house?" He smiled at her, but stopped once he saw her tense up. Arnold began to gather up his papers. "Or not?"

"Yeah we can, but you can't stay long," Helga relented.

"Are you not allowed to have boys over?" Arnold asked curiously

"No."

"We can work in the living room if that—"

"My bedroom is fine. It's just that Big Bob can be a real blowhard when he gets home from work." Helga rolled her eyes. She began to pull papers and books out of her desk and shoving them into her backpack.

"Oh, ok. We can just take notes and then type it up on our own." Arnold offered.

"That's fine," she agreed, and searched around the room for Phoebe.

"Um…you want to meet at my locker?" Arnold tried desperately for some eye contact, but Helga easily avoided it. She nodded absently to show she heard him. Finally spotting Phoebe, who was engaged in a conversation with Sheena, Helga began to walk over. Arnold grabbed her hand.

"Helga, are you ok?"

"Yes." She sighed frustratedly. "For the _millionth_ time, yes." She finally looked at him. "I need to talk to Phoebe. Can I please do that, or are you gonna ask me the freakin' $64,000 question now?" Helga pointed looked down at their clasped hands.

Arnold bit lip and dropped his hand. He looked at her apologetically. "Sorry, I just…Helga, I want…" he sighed again. "Ok I'll see you in a bit." he said in a small voice and walked towards Gerald, who was waiting for him by the door.

"Hey, you wanna practice some pitches later on?" Gerald asked as they walked to Arnold's locker.

Arnold shook his head. "Nah, I gotta go to Helga's house," he said. Gerald stopped dead in his tracks and looked at him. Arnold saw his right hand twitching.

"Geez, it's not like that! We're just finishing up the interview," Arnold hastily added.

"Oh…ok," Gerald breathed a sigh of relief. Arnold rolled his eyes. "Don't act so suspicious."

"Can't help it," Gerald said airily. "I've been spending too much time with Sid."

"I can tell," Arnold dryly shot back. Gerald gave him a mutinous look. "Besides, just now you were holding her hand, and you _did_ say she was like a Tootsie..."

"_Shut up!"_ Arnold looked around frantically to see if anyone had heard, but only saw Gerald doubled over laughing. Arnold waited for his friend to finish with his arms crossed.

"Ok…see ya later man" Gerald managed to get out between laughs. The boys did their secret handshake, then Gerald departed for the bus. Arnold could still hear his laugh echoing in the hallway when Helga finally walked up.

"Ready?" Arnold smiled.

Helga nodded. "Yes." She played with her long sleeves and leaned against the locker. She closed her eyes.

He smiled again, even though she couldn't see him. "You want to walk? It's a nice day." It was a day that held a hint of coolness in the air, a promise of the fall to come. Helga nodded again. Arnold grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hallway, but she snatched her hand out of his and quickly moved away from him.

Arnold sighed again. "Helga…" he started, but she interrupted.

"Stop. " she growled, and walked ahead of him, leading the way to her house.

"Fine." Arnold was desperate talk to her, so he said the first thing on his mind. "Wanna see my Jackface?"

After seeing her expression of mild disgust, he thought maybe silence _was_ golden.

Arnold snuck quick peeks at her occasionally on the way and frowned. Helga even _walked _differently. Arnold remembered how she would stride around school, fists curled up and a scowl on her face, daring someone-anyone-to challenge her. Now, she walked slowly, dragging her feet along pavement, her head down. He followed her, deep in thought. Arnold knew that he was utterly useless when it came to girls and their feelings. He couldn't see that Summer was using him (Gerald later called her a 'gold-digger' but Arnold said she wasn't after gold, but a spot on 'Babewatch'. Gerald had rolled his eyes), Ruth was self-obsessed, Ms. Felter was too old and therefore out of his league, and Lila was just not that into him. But with Helga, he knew how she felt, knew that she _loved_ him (that thought made Arnold's knees weak) and yet she acted like she couldn't care less about him. Helga strolling around and calling him names or threatening him was one thing, but it showed she knew he was there, that she felt _something_ for him. This new indifference, Arnold realized, meant that she felt _nothing_. He was nothing to her anymore. He looked at the blond girl just a few paces ahead of him and felt pinpricks behind his eyes. He wanted to matter to her again. He would do anything to hear "Football Head" again.

A flash of color on the edge of the sidewalk caught Arnold's attention. He made his way over and saw a pink daisy lying there. Arnold hesitated a moment, and glanced at Helga, who paid him no attention. He smiled and picked it up.

"Helga, stop for a minute?" She stopped and turned around. Arnold walked up to her and gently placed the daisy in her hair beside her ponytail.

Arnold blushed. "Your hair looked lonely."

Helga stared at him. Her fingers moved to touch the flower nestled in her hair.

Arnold fumbled for the right words. "You know, I kinda miss your bow. I liked it. It was pink like your dress…I'm no Rhonda or whatever, but the color looks really nice on you. Really, really nice. It…it…um, makes your hair shine brighter. And the pink and gold is so pretty together." he blushed more, the shade of his face almost matching the flower perfectly.

Helga's mouth fell open for the second time that day. Her blue eye widened. She stood frozen like that for a while. Arnold waited patiently, but after the third minute got a little concerned

"Helga?" Arnold batted away a fly that tried to go into her mouth.

"Arnold, did you figure out my favorite ice cream flavor?" she said in a strangled voice.

"No…I thought you were lactose intolerant?" He scratched his head in confusion. Helga's face closed down, and an unreadable mask took over. She sighed and fingered the flower again. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm lactose intolerant."

* * *

><p>"So…let's get started." Arnold settled himself on the foot of Helga's bed. He balanced his notebook between his crisscrossed legs and painstakingly wrote, "<em>My Life Changing Moment." <em> Helga watched him quietly. She had sat on the other side of the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. The flower he had given her lay between them. Helga's eyes darted between him and the flower, as if trying to figure out some missing link.

After a beat of silence, Arnold spoke up. "I'll go first." He paused. He considered using Mr. Huynh's daughter's return but decided against it. Helga had bared herself that night on the roof, and he felt that he owed her the same. He sighed. '_Here goes nothing,'_ he thought

"My most life changing moment was…was when my parents left. Even though I was like two, it still changed me. I didn't grow up with parents. I mean, don't get me wrong, my grandparents are great, but I wish I had my parents. I don't really know anything about them. " He shifted on the bed, not trying to meet Helga's eyes for once.

Arnold felt this eyes tear up and his face grow hot. He willed himself not to cry. "I mean, who did I get my head shape from? Or my eye color? When I smile, is…is it Mom's? Or Dad's? I don't even know what they _look _like! There's no pictures anywhere! What was their wedding like? And how was I born?" his voice was so thick with emotion he had to stop for a minute. "I…I have all these questions but no answers. M-my grandparents won't…or really can't talk about it. I guess I can't blame them. On _that_ day, every year, I don't see them. It's like I'm some living reminder of them that they're trying their hardest to forget."

Arnold wiped his eyes. "Sorry…I didn't mean to cry." He finally looked at Helga, expecting a smirk or even a bored expression on her face, but not the tenderness. Helga's hand found his and gave it a squeeze, and Arnold's heart lifted a little at the unexpected contact, and, he realized, her reaction. He released a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked into her eyes and saw no pity, only compassion. Arnold gave her a watery smile.

"I never told anyone this before…sometimes, I would get jealous of Gerald because he had parents. I wish I had a dad that made me watch my younger sister to complain about. Or a mom that fussed at me like she does with Gerald. If I had my parents, I think my life would be normal." Arnold paused again, and then chuckled. "Sometimes I was jealous of you."

"Me?" Helga questioned in a disbelieving tone.

He nodded. "Yeah. You have a mother and a father."

She pulled her hand away from him and clutched her pillow tighter to her chest. She stared at him, her eyes boring holes into his. "Well, Arnold, things are rough all over," she said softly.

"W-Where'd you get that from?" he demanded.

Helga snorted. "How do you know I got it from anywhere? I could have pulled that out from thin air," she frowned at him

"Because my grandma said it to me once in the exact same way."

"Great minds think alike?"

"Helga…"Arnold rolled his eyes.

She sighed dramatically. "Fine. I got it from 'The Outsiders.'" She shot him an annoyed look.

"Um…Is that a movie?" Arnold asked blankly.

She nodded. "Yeah, but the book is way better. The author was 16 when she wrote it."

Arnold's eyes widened. "Wow," he said, impressed. Helga smiled, something he hadn't seen in days. He loved how it brightened her face.

"I know. It's amazing. I think you might like it. You can borrow it." She got off the bed and went to the crowded bookcase, combing through the shelves until she finally pulled out a slim book. Helga held it out to him.

"What's it about?" Arnold flipped it over to read the back cover, but the book was so worn he couldn't make out the words. He looked up at her.

Helga smirked and crossed her arms. "To find out, you have to read it. Do-do-do!"

"This is _not_ 'Reading Rainbow,'" he deadpanned. She shrugged and sat on the bed again. "I know. I just really like that show. I still watch it sometimes."

Arnold chuckled. "That's cute," he said without thinking and flipped through the book. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a pink ribbon on the highest bookshelf tucked behind a large volume of Shakespearean sonnets and smiled to himself. _So it's not gone_, he thought happily.

Not for the first time that day, Helga gave him a strange look.

"Why do you keep giving me that look?" Arnold closed the book and waited patiently for the answer.

Helga fidgeted. She started to reply but the sound of a door slamming cut off her sentence. Helga leapt off the bed and quietly cracked opened her door. Arnold could see Bob Pataki make his way to the kitchen. She quietly closed her it and turned to face him.

"Criminy…Arnold, you have to get out of here. Now." She spoke with a sudden sense of urgency and paced back and forth, wringing her hands.

"But what about the inter—" Arnold started.

"Now!" she snapped.

He slid off the bed. "Ok, ok! I'll go." He hastily shoved things into his backpack. Both could hear Bob moving around downstairs. "OLGA!"

"Go out the window." Helga said suddenly. She stopped pacing and crossed the room in quick strides and threw it open. Arnold gave her a confused look. "What?"

"I _said_ go out the window! There's a tree next to the window. Just get on the branch and climb down. I've done it a million times. It's sturdy. Now is not a time for questions, Arnold." She dragged him over towards the window, but Arnold held his ground. He grabbed her by her shoulders.

"Helga…tell me what's going on. Maybe I can explain to him what's going on, he'll listen to-" Arnold tried to reason, but Helga shook her head violently.

"Save it Arnold. Please. Just go." She pleaded. Arnold felt a seed of fear planted in his stomach at the panic in her voice. "I have to know that you'll be ok. Helga, I can't leave you like this!" he looked at her reproachfully.

"Why do you care?" Helga's face softened. "You're not supposed to…he said…"

"I do care." He gently interrupted. "How could I not?" Arnold gave her a small smile and slipped his hand into hers. He squeezed it reassuringly.

"DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE! I KNOW YOU'RE HOME!" Bob's voice boomed from the foot of the stairs. Helga's face paled.

"Come by my house. Tonight. When you can get out." Arnold pleaded.

Heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs. "GIRL!"

Helga glanced nervously at the door, then back to Arnold. "If I say yes, will you go? Now?" Her face had never looked so serious before.

Arnold nodded. "Yes."

"Then I'll find you." She pushed him towards the window, wincing as the footsteps crept closer to her bedroom door.

"Ok. Helga—" Arnold began, stalling. He didn't want to leave her like this. And, he realized, he didn't want to let go of her hand. Helga solved that by snatching hers away and pushing him out of the window.

"Go!" Helga gave him one last look, then slammed window shut and drew the curtains tightly closed. Arnold hurriedly shimmied down the tree to the ground below and booked it down the block. He stopped and looked back at the Pataki house, rubbing his temples. For some reason, the worst kind of headache came on just then.

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><p><strong>AN: Hope you enjoyed! I included the "Lost" stuff b/c I am STILL having a hard time letting go (yes, I know it's over), but Oprah is ending as well and it's bringing back memories =[ so i watched the ep when Charlie died and had myself a nice cry, lol.  
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**I'm not sure when I will get to update next b/c of my student showcase (hence the nice, long chapter), but it will be no later than this time next week. Happy reading and reviewing! **

**-A**


	6. As Sure As Night

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I love hearing that you enjoy the story so much. If I haven't replied to your review yet, I apologize and will do so as soon as I can. This is the second draft of the chapter; I originally posted it, took it down and rewrote parts of it. There were no major changes, I just expanded on things I felt needed to be explained better. I am pretty satisfied with the way that it is now. I have learned, however, that posting something I am not completely satisfied with leads to a lot of anxiety on my part (Type 1 person here), so it may mean a longer wait time between chapters. I do hope that you enjoy it and always feel free to shoot me ideas/comments/concerns. It makes me a better writer, and leads to a better story.  
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**Disclaimers: I do not own Hey Arnold! as it is the property of Craig Bartlett and Nickelodeon. ****Song title comes from "Walk the Line" by Johnny Cash: _"As sure as night is dark and day is light/I keep you on my mind both day and night." _It is a lovely song, be sure to listen to it one day. **

**Without further ado..._  
><em>**

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><p><strong>As Sure As Night is Dark...<strong>

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><p>Arnold paused and rubbed his forehead. This was harder than he thought and he didn't know where to go from the last paragraph. He got up and paced around his room a couple of laps, thinking deeply. An object caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He stopped in front of his bed, eyeing the guitar. Arnold remembered the day that Grandma thrust it at him, demanding that he play it around the campfire in the living room.<p>

"_All the cowboys have at least one singer in their midst, Tex! Play us a song about the lonely plains." She looked off into the distance, her gaze going half-lidded. _

_Arnold stared at her, dumbfounded. "Grandma, I don't even know how to play! Or hold it!" Arnold grappled with the guitar awkwardly. _

_Gertie leaned over and gently positioned it in his lap. "Now play. Don't think, just feel the music, Tex." _

_Arnold closed his eyes and let his fingers play. He was surprised to find that it sounded halfway decent, and looked up with astonishment. Phil looked at him, and in the firelight almost looked teary eyed. _

_"You know, your ma used to play the guitar. It was hers. Piano, too," he said offhandedly. Phil rubbed at his eyes. "Darn smoke in my eye…Pookie, we gotta wrap this up before…" but was cut off by the wail of the fire alarm and water spraying everywhere. Everyone ran from the room. Phil rolled his eyes. "…before the sprinklers go off," he muttered, heading to cut off the alarm._

_Arnold sat still and looked at the guitar. _

Since that day, Arnold was hooked. He discovered he had quite a knack for playing the guitar, and started to take lessons. Grandma taught him how to play piano and sing as well, but he really took to the stringed instrument. Arnold began to write songs, and occasionally putting on concerts for the boarders. He didn't tell any of his friends though. Except one.

He sat back down, now knowing where to start.

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><p>Arnold tried calling the Pataki house but no one answered, and after the seventh time got a disconnected tone. He sat on the stoop and peered down the street and waited until it started raining.<p>

Phil opened the door and saw his grandson gazing in the distance with an utterly dejected look on his face. He leaned against the doorframe. "Whatcha doin', Short Man?"

Arnold jumped, then turned around to face his grandpa. "I'm waiting for someone. S-she said she would come by, but it's getting late and raining and I need her to come so I can see if she's ok." Arnold's dark blonde hair was matted and stuck to his face, and his thoroughly soaked clothes clung to his body.

Phil smiled. "Is it your girlfriend with the pink bow and one eyebrow?" he chuckled.

Arnold blushed. "Grandpa, she's not my girlfriend. And she doesn't wear a pink bow anymore," he said sadly. He looked down the street but could only see sheets of rain. "I haven't heard from her since I left her house and I'm worried."

The old man snorted. "Women! They always show up when you least expect them." Phil straightened up. "Come inside, Arnold. Eat some dinner at least. Can't pine over someone on an empty stomach!" he chuckled to himself.

"I'm _not_ pining," Arnold said sharply. He crossed his arms and glared at Phil. "I'm just waiting for a _friend_ who happens to be a _girl_ because she said she would be here. We have…uh…homework to finish," he finished rather lamely and turned back around to face the direction of Helga's house.

Phil threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's already staring!" he shouted dramatically.

"What is?" Arnold questioned.

"Adolescence." Phil deadpanned and closed the door behind him. A few moments later, he stuck his head out the door. "Pookie put your dinner in the microwave, and I threatened that no good bum Kokoshka on pain of death if he so much as whiffed it!" he shook his fist to emphasize his point.

Arnold softened. "Thanks, Grandpa. And…I'm sorry for being rude," he apologized.

Phil waved him off. "It's ok. People act all kinds of crazy when they're in love!" he chuckled and quickly closed the door on Arnold's protests.

Eventually Arnold had come in, showered, and ate dinner. Helga still hadn't shown up and it was half past nine. He trudged up to his room and started to get ready for bed. Arnold had just turned out the lights when he heard a knock above him. Arnold looked up and saw Helga's anxious face looking down. He quickly scrambled up the ladder and opened the skylight.

Helga slowly came down the ladder and was enveloped in a bear hug before her feet hit the floor. She stiffened at his touch.

"Hey Arnold," she said softly. "Sorry I'm so late."

He grinned. "I'm just glad you came." Arnold looked at her. She was soaked to the bone and was shivering slightly from the cold rain. "You need a shower or you'll get sick." He went over to his dresser and started to rummage around, then pulled out one of his plaid shirts, a pair of sweatpants and a pair of thick socks.

Arnold walked over to her and put the bundle in her hands. "I'll show you where the bathroom is, and I'll make you some cocoa. Is that ok?" She nodded.

He smiled at her again, took her hand and led her to the bathroom. Arnold turned on the light and gasped when he saw her face. Helga's lip was red and swollen, and raw looking scrapes ran down the side of her face.

"Helga, what happened to your face?" he turned her face to examine the cuts.

She shrugged. "I got stung by a bee, and I started to run and fell down." Helga held up her hands and showed him scrapes on her hands. "It's no big deal, I'm kind of allergic to bees. Not like I am to strawberries, though."

Arnold hesitated and looked closely at her. "Does this happen a lot?" he turned her face to see the mild scrapes. She shrugged again. "Sit down and I'll clean you up." He rummaged through the medicine cabinet to get some cotton balls and peroxide.

"I don't need you to…" Helga started

"It's not a choice, ok? Just sit." Arnold interrupted, turning towards her with supplies in hand. Helga sighed and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Arnold dabbled peroxide on her cuts, then put bandages on them.

"You need to take some Benadryl for your lip, and that'll make you drowsy, so you need to spend the night here." Arnold smiled at the panicked look on her face. "Its fine, Helga. You can sleep on the couch in my room. Gerald does it a lot."

"I can't stay…" she protested but Arnold cut her off again

"You can and you will. It's not a choice," he said firmly. "I'm not walking you back home all hopped on Benadryl." He started to walk towards the door. "Put your clothes outside the door and I'll put them in the dryer after I get the cocoa started. Towels are right there," he pointed to the closet in the bathroom.

"Fine, Arnold," Helga sighed. She closed the door behind her.

Arnold went to the kitchen to get the cocoa started, and back to collect Helga's clothes. As he was putting them in the dryer, he noticed a pink daisy in the pockets.

* * *

><p>Helga was sitting on the bed, looking around. She brightened when she saw Arnold with the cocoa and clutched at the mug gratefully. She swallowed the Benadryl and took a sip of cocoa. "Thanks, Arnold," she said.<p>

"No problem," He sat down beside her. "I have an extra toothbrush….not used...but, yeah, you can use that in the morning. And you can use my hairbrush," he added and got up to hand it to her. Arnold noticed that her hand was shaking so bad that she couldn't use it

"I can brush it for you, Helga." He took it back and sat down behind her, slowly moving the brush through her thick blonde hair. For some reason, it made him feel funny…like it was…_intimate_. Arnold hoped Helga couldn't hear his breath catch in his throat, or his heartbeat speed up. The two sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the brush.

She started to speak, so softly that Arnold had to lean in closer to hear her. "When I was younger and would go to my Nana's house, she would brush my hair one hundred times every night. She told me if I did that, my hair would shine like gold and be as long as Rapunzel's. 'Course it's not that long, but it shines when I brush it like that." Helga hugged her knees to her chest.

"You have pretty hair Helga," he smiled. It was so bright and golden, like…a cornflower, if there was one, or a ray of sunshine, he thought.

"Thanks."

"Is that who you saw this summer? Your Nana?" he ventured. Arnold draped half of her hair over her shoulder, done with that section, and moved over to the other half.

She nodded. "Yeah, she's my mom's mom. She lives in a holler in North Carolina."

"What's a holler?"

"The space between two mountains. It comes from the word 'hollow' but got shortened. It was deep country. No neighbors for miles, with mountains all around you. It was really beautiful. Peaceful. I miss it." Helga had a wistful tone in her voice.

"Never figured you for a country girl," Arnold teased.

Helga chuckled. "Not really. I just like the open spaces. And country music isn't _too_ bad."

"This coming from the girl who only listens to death metal," Arnold laughed.

She frowned. "I listen to a lot of other things besides that. I don't even listen to it anymore b/c it stopped ticking Bob off,"

"Like what?"

"Well, I like Billie Holiday. Louis Armstrong, and Miles Davis. And I listen to some classical too, like Beethoven and Mozart and Satie. And I like Jill Scott. And Blue October. And Damien Rice. And Gary Allan. Don't put me in a box." Helga whirled around and faced him, an annoyed expression on her face.

"Sorry, Helga," Arnold said quietly. He looked at her, and her expression softened. Helga tore her eyes from him and studied the room instead.

"Do you play guitar?" she asked, spying it propped in a corner.

He blushed. "Yeah…I sing too," he confessed. "Not even Gerald knows I sing."

"Can I hear you sing something?" Helga asked, almost shyly.

"Uh, I don't know." Arnold tugged at his collar nervously. Besides the boarders and his grandparents, _no one_ had heard him sing, and the last thing he wanted was for Helga to go all Simon Cowell on him.

"Is it too late?" she persisted.

"No, Grandpa soundproofed my room when I started to learn how to play the drums. I don't really perform in front of people," he explained.

"Oh." Disappointment flashed across her face, and in that moment, Arnold wanted to do whatever he could to make her smile.

He bit his lip. "Do you want to hear one I've been practicing? I don't think that I'm ready to really to sing one of my songs yet. And this song has been stuck in my head for some reason. Since, uh, well, for a while now." Arnold reached for his guitar and tuned it. "I'm really nervous, so, um…be nice,ok?

"I will," she said, smiling faintly.

Arnold took a deep breath, then began playing the opening notes.

_In my place, in my place  
>Were lines that I couldn't change<br>I was lost, oh, yeah_

He didn't dare look up, he was so nervous.

_I was lost, I was lost  
>Crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed<br>I was lost, oh yeah_

Arnold sang those lines and winced. For some reason, he started thinking about THE confession- because in his mind, no other kind of confession in history could compare to this passion-filled monologue that was always replaying in the back of his mind. He thought about it all summer, and felt so stupid, blabbing about "heat of the moment," avoiding her, and then disappearing to Arnie's. He could literally see the wheels in Helga's head turning, trying to figure out what he was saying with this song, or even _if_ he was saying something. _He_ didn't even know what he was doing singing it to her, but that it resonated with him in some way, and it may do the same for her.

_And yeah, how long must you wait for it?  
>Yeah, how long must you pay for it?<br>Yeah, how long must you wait for it? _  
><em>I was scared, I was scared<br>Tired and under prepared  
>But I wait for it<em>

Helga's face twisted into some sort of a smile, and it was a shadow of the one she gave him on the rooftop of the FTi building after THE kiss. Arnold remembered her waiting for his response, waiting to hear those three words said in return, but…but he didn't know when he would be able to respond to Helga's confession. He hated himself for leaving her in limbo like that, but he couldn't give her an insincere response. Arnold hoped that Helga knew that, and that his silence wasn't because he didn't care; on the contrary, it was because he _did,_care. He cared a great deal, he l….

_And if you go, if you go  
>Leave me down here on my own<br>And I'll wait for you_

…he felt something, something he couldn't, or maybe wouldn't, name. But if he did…if he did, and she didn't…love…him anymore, he would wait for her. He knew this, deep in his bones. It was a certainty, one of the few that Arnold had in his life, in fact. No matter what happened, Arnold knew that he and Helga were connected. He couldn't remember the exact word for it, but he heard it once and for some reason thought of Helga.

Arnold approached the next verse of the song, one that always confused him. It never went with how he felt when he sang the song to himself…

_Yeah, how long must you wait for it?  
>Yeah, how long must you pay for it?<br>Yeah, how long must you wait for it?_

But apparently Helga understood that part. He looked up and saw tears silently spilling onto Helga's cheeks, but there was a small, telling smile on her face that made him think she knew something he didn't . A knot in Arnold's stomach, one he didn't know he had, slowly released itself. His voice grew stronger, and his eyes found Helga's.

_Sing it please, please, please  
>Come back and sing to me<br>To me, me_

Arnold set the guitar aside and grabbed her hand. "Hey, why are you crying? Was it that bad?" he joked nervously.

"No, it was beautiful," she sniffled, and wiped at her eyes. "You have an amazing voice, Arnold."

Arnold smiled. "Thanks," He hadn't realized how much he needed her approval. "My…my mom used to play a lot of instruments. She was one of those people that had perfect pitch, and I guess I got my talent from her. One more thing I know about them, I guess."

Helga nodded and stifled a yawn, and Arnold realized how late it was. "You should get some sleep. How about you sleep on the bed and I'll sleep on the couch?"

Helga nodded sleepily and got under the covers. "Lay here with me for a while?" Her crystal blue eyes looked up at him, pleading, and he found that he couldn't say no.

"Yeah," he said, and lay down beside her on top of the covers. The two lay in silence for a while. Arnold's mind went back to earlier in the day, when he had to climb out of the window. Something felt so wrong about it, but he couldn't pick out which part. He knew Bob was a blowhard, but he wouldn't have done _that._ It was late summer, and there were still bees around. Arnold had never known anyone to get stung on the lip, but stranger things have happened, he reasoned. But the nagging feeling persisted, telling him to not let this go. He didn't even realize that he was stroking Helga's head until she snuggled closer.

"Arnold?" she was on the verge of sleep

"Yeah?"

"I'll wait for it…for a long time. Until you don't want me to wait anymore," she sighed.

Arnold reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Should have known you would figure that part out," he remarked.

Helga continued. "And…and, it was worth it. _You _were worth it, so I'll pay for it. A thousand times over."

"Helga?" Arnold didn't know what that last part meant and was about to ask her, but saw that she was fast asleep, the Benadryl finally taking over. He sighed and settled back against the pillow. _'What did that mean?' _he thought, unaware of his own drowsiness.

The last thing Arnold remembered was kissing her forehead.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Song is "In My Place," by Coldplay. I do not own it, Coldplay does. I know it means something else, but interpreted through the lens of this story, it goes wonderfully, I think.**

**I am deathly allergic to bees...like, anaphalaxis and all that. First time I was stung? I was 4 and it was on the lip...apparently I tried to kiss a bee =[ so it can happen, people! Keep in mind that Arnold is like, all of 10 years old, and there is a great difference between the denseness that he so often displays and just not understanding something that is right in front of him. Despite the turmoil that he has experienced in his life at an early age, he is pretty unaware of certain things and the signs that may or may not indicate a change in someone's situation. Just throwing that out there...  
><strong>

**Also, [shameless plug] I have lighter, fluffier stuff to read! If you like "Glee" check out my other stories [/shameless plug]  
><strong>


	7. Emails

**A/N: If I haven't answered your review yet, I do apologize; life has gotten the better of me and I have not been able to keep up with this and my new job yet. This chapter is kind of a filler one and formatted funny due to FF's formatting rules, so just pretend there is a complete email address in the text below. I do promise that the next 2 chapters will start to advance the plot more and be posted fairly quickly together. Right now the story is going in a completely unexpected direction and I'm struggling to keep up. Who knew stories had minds of their own? I'm still along for the ride and hope you are as well :D **

**Disclaimer: I do not own HA! **

* * *

><p><strong>Emails<strong>

* * *

><p>The next day, Friday, Mr. Simmons let the class go to the Library to get a start on their research. He left them in the care of the librarian, Mrs. Devereax, believing that they were in good hands. <em>"Aren't I lucky to have such a special class?"<em> he thought to himself. He quickened his pace and made his way to the teacher's lounge; that thought replaced with ones revolving around those delicious no-bake cookies that the kind first-grade teacher, Mr. Bentley, left out. It was too bad that he didn't notice Mrs. Devereaux in the multimedia room, chomping on pork rinds and watching _The Daring and the Dashing. _She was totally engrossed and had left the class to their own devices. They had promised that they would research, she thought, and Simmons _did_ say they were special. She had no reason to worry. Really.

Unfortunately, everyone seemed to have a different idea of what "research" meant. Rhonda promptly made her way to the magazine rack, exclaiming to Nadine that to properly research the upcoming spring Fashion Week, she _must_ read the latest _Mod_ magazine. Nadine was right behind her, until she saw a spider's web in the corner of a shelf. "I'll be right back," she muttered to Rhonda, who was already engrossed in the mag. Nadine grabbed her notebook and began to sketch, softly exclaiming over the absolute beauty of the brown recluse before her.

Curly decided to "research" the layout of the Zoo; he was getting restless. The animals were calling him, beseeching him to set them free. He could feel it in his blood. Curly feverishly began to type, and in no time had hacked into the Zoo's mainframe. He smiled maniacally, but didn't laugh. That would get him kicked out of the library, he reasoned, and he had work to do.

Harold had curled up in the back corner of the library and was fast asleep. The four chocolate bars he shoved in his mouth during the walk to the library had given him an amazing sugar rush, but the crash was brutal.

Sid and Stinky decided to "beautify" Harold with a mural of flowers and suns and rainbows on his face with Sharpies. Every time Harold stirred, the boys would freeze and hold their breath, hoping that the pink boy would resume his slumber. As soon he settled down, the boys would resume their drawing. "Boy howdy, does he talk a lot in his sleep," Sid whispered to Stinky. Stinky nodded, glad he could continue his drawing of a daisy on Harold's right cheek.

Sheena and Eugene weren't too far from Harold; Eugene decided to research the director of _Rats_, but got distracted when he found an old recording of the soundrack and was singing softly along, dancing with Sheena.

Brainy was...somewhere. No one could actually see him, but the faint sounds of his wheezing could be heard from somewhere in the stacks. Lila was sitting at a table writing a letter to Arnie.

This left Arnold, Helga, Phoebe, and Gerald to do actual research. The group had snagged computers; Phoebe decided to research _Brown vs. Board of Education_, Gerald on Hank Gathers. Arnold overheard Helga mention earlier to Phoebe that she was researching Deep Throat and the Watergate scandal and smiled to himself. Arnold, sitting across from her, hadn't settled on anyone just yet. He was too busy shooting glances at Helga. He had woken up alone in his bed, and the skylight open and was disappointed that she didn't wake him when she left. Arnold saw her by the lockers and tried to ask her about it, but she looked at him blankly. "Leave it, Arnold," she said, and walked to the classroom. Arnold thought back to that day in the cafeteria. Maybe it was just too public? Usually, when it was just him and Helga, it was almost like she was a different person. Well, until he said something that angered her, then it was back to the insults. Or now, ignoring him.

He tipped his seat back to contemplate the problem, rocking softly, and then was struck with inspiration so hard that he literally fell out of his seat. Gerald, who was sitting next to him, stopped working and stared at him.

"Umm…you ok, Arnold? Because that was _not_ cool," Gerald whispered, his face twisted in a combination of concern and laughter. Well, to be honest, mostly laughter.

Arnold flushed. "I'm fine, Gerald. I, uh, just thought about who I could research," he said, climbing back into his seat and pushing his head back.

Gerald shook his head and went back to his work. Arnold glanced at Helga; usually, she would smirk and say something along the lines of his football head being too much to balance, but there was only a flicker of a glance from the blonde headed girl. Arnold frowned, then turned back to his computer. Since he couldn't send instant messages (it was firewalled after Mrs. Devereaux discovered Curly using it to impersonate a teacher trying to get into contact with the zoo; Curly thought that if _he_ couldn't come to the animals, then they may be able to come to _him), _Arnold sent an email_._

TO: pataki.h

FROM: shortman.a

_Message: _

_Helga,_

_Can we talk? We didn't get a chance last night really, and you left so early this morning. I meant what I said when I said you could talk to me._

_-Arnold_

He tapped his fingers rapidly, holding his breath. After hitting "refresh" continuously for five minutes, he finally got a response.

TO: shortman.a

FROM: pataki.h

_Message: _

_Why?_

One word. Arnold was not surprised. After another five minutes of nothing, he sent another one.

TO: pataki.h

FROM: shortman.a

_Message: _

_Because I want to  
><em>

_-Arnold_

Helga looked at him around her monitor. Arnold met her gaze without flinching. He tried to let the concern show on his face, so that she knew it was genuine. She frowned at him. Arnold switched to his most angelic, innocent expression. Helga rolled her eyes and turned back to her keyboard. He heard the clacking of keys. Arnold refreshed the page.

TO: shortman.a

FROM: pataki.h

_Message: _

_Yeah, we can talk. Meet me at the dock tonight. 9:30. And stop with the creeper face._

Arnold read the response and couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. His computer beeped, signaling a new message. He opened up and read it.

TO: shortman.a

FROM: pataki.h

_Message: _

_Don't get so excited_

Arnold bit his lip. He didn't know if Grandpa would let him be out that late. "_Why so late? That's almost past my bedtime," _he typed back, then sent it.

TO: shortman.a

FROM: pataki.h

_Message: _

"_Why so late? That's almost past my bedtime,"_

The response was immediate:

TO: shortman.a

FROM: pataki.h

_Message: _

_Meet me at that time or not at all. And bring some Yahoo. _

Arnold couldn't help but chuckle.

TO: pataki.h

FROM: shortman.a

_Message: _

_Whatever you say, Helga_

Arnold sent it, then paused. Grinning, he typed one last message, then logged off of the computer. Arnold stood up and made his way to the stacks. "Check your inbox," he whispered, squeezing her shoulder as he passed Helga.

He glanced back, and saw a small smile on her face as she read his last message

TO: pataki.h

FROM: shortman.a

_Message: _

"_Bring your pink bow_."

* * *

><p><em>Have you ever wished that you could unlearn something? I remember first feeling like that when I found out Santa wasn't real. Grandma baked Christmas cookies for the whole class when I was in kindergarten and brought them as a surprise…in April. Since I had always gotten presents whenever Christmas was (turned out to be Arbor Day), I was surprised when my classmates started making fun of me. Well, really Helga and Harold. I kinda figured out it was my grandparents leaving the presents. I was sad for a long time after that. <em>

_Or when I found out that Ernie was an animal killer. Yes, I am being serious. _

_Sometime last year, I was passing by the bathroom and heard some strange noises. I knocked on the door and asked if whoever was in there was alright. The sounds continued so I knocked some more. Finally, Ernie peeked his head out. "For cryin' out loud kid, I'm choking my chicken here!" Then he slammed the door. After he left, I checked the bathroom for blood and guts and feathers, but all I found was a 'Large and Lovely' magazine. That threw me for a loop. I still don't quite understand what the magazine has to do with killing chickens, but I don't think I have looked at Ernie the same since. _

_But this…thing with Helga... _

Arnold stopped. He reminded himself that Mr. Simmons wanted truth.

_I know that wanting to unlearn something can be seen as cowardly, and I don't think I am. _

_But…I wish that I could unlearn it because I couldn't keep believing that bad things happened far away from me. I mean, yeah my parents are gone, but it happened in San Lorenzo, not Hillwood. Grandpa says that sometimes, I'm dense. I don't know about all that, but I know that if this could happen to Helga, it could happen to anyone. And she kept it __secret__. A person could look at her and never know. How many other people are walking around here with horrible secrets? You could, or Eugene, or Torvald, or even Principal Wartz. _

_And I wish I could unlearn it because it's my fault it's happening in the first place. All my fault. _

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The next chapter will definitely be posted before Saturday; I need to look it over for errors and things, but otherwise it is where I want it to be. See you next chapter! **


	8. We Will Wait For It To Swing

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews on the previous chapter! I appreciate them and am in the process of replying to them now. I apologize for the delay. This chapter is a bit of a cliffhanger, for you as well as myself, as I am at a bit of a crossroads with what will happen next. I think I have it pretty much decided, though. Anyway, happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!; it is the property of Craig Bartlett. I also do not own the title, which comes from the song "Chariot" by Page France: **_you're a wrecking ball/with a heart of gold/we will wait for it to swing_

* * *

><p><strong>Ch.8: <strong>…**We Will Wait For It To Swing**

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><p>Arnold saw her form outlined by the moonlight, legs dangling over the ledge. Her hair was down, whipped by the wind in all directions. She leaned back on her hands, face turned up to the moon, gazing at it as if it held the answers for the meaning of life. Arnold had an overwhelming feeling of deja vu, and he thought about the dream he had, where Hilda looked like Helga and recited poetry to the moon. The sight of Helga made Arnold catch his breath. He silently made his way to her and sat down beside her. She was still wearing the black turtleneck, but wore a pink jacket over it.<p>

"Hey," he said softly. Arnold mirrored her, leaning back on his hands and staring at the moon. It was especially big and close tonight. He felt that if he reached out, he could touch it.

"Hey," Helga replied, glancing at him swiftly, then returned her attention to the moon. Arnold bit his lip. He didn't know where to start. "I like your jacket, Helga. Nice to see you in pink again," he ventured, looking at her.

She said nothing.

He continued talking. "Sorry I forgot the Yahoo soda, I just went right past the kitchen and didn't think about it, heh, heh, and, um, I didn't want you to be out here too long by yourself," he rambled.

They sat in silence for a while.

"Um…" Arnold faltered.

"You wanted to talk, Arnold, so talk," Helga said, breaking the silence, gaze never wavering from the sky. Her voice held no malice, only stating fact.

Arnold turned to face her, crossing his legs. "I…I just want to know what's wrong. I thought maybe you didn't want to talk about it in school. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in the cafeteria before," he said, playing with the frayed ends of his pants. He didn't want to make her mad, so he decided to tread carefully.

"What's wrong?" Helga repeated.

"Yeah," Arnold replied, his voice gaining strength. "I mean…you're so quiet. You just sit there and don't say anything. You look sad all the time. And…and, you hardly say anything to anyone anymore. Not even Phoebe. You don't throw spitballs at me anymore. Or trip me. Or even call me football head anymore."

"I'm quiet?" Helga mused, a trace of humor in her voice.

Arnold sighed, frustrated at her stubbornness. "Geez, Helga, can you quit being a parrot for a second and be serious?" he muttered.

"Do you miss it?" Helga laid on her back, hands under her head.

Arnold nodded, then shook his head vigorously. "Yes! I mean, no! I just want you to go back to how you used to be."

"You mean you _want_ the scowling, bully that tortured you and everyone else for years?" Helga's soft voice wafted up to him, softly mocking him.

"Yes! I mean…why are you making this so hard? You're not _you_ anymore, Helga, and I miss it. You're like a shell of a person and you've been like this since we saved the neighborhood and I want to know why," he demanded, his voice bordering on anger.

Helga was silent for a few minutes, letting silence envelop the two. "You don't know me," she finally said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Arnold was confused.

"You don't know me, Arnold."

Arnold rolled his eyes. "Helga. I've known you since we were 3," he said dryly.

She shook her head. "That's not me. All that…it is, was, a front. A façade. An act. God, I'm such a liar," He could hear her voice breaking. "No one knows the real me. Who would want to?" She said miserably.

"Me," Arnold said quietly. He looked at her earnestly.

"Huh?" It was Helga's turn to be confused.

"Yes, me. I want to know you, Helga. All of you." Arnold lay down beside her on his side, his head propped on one of his hands. He gazed down at her.

Helga sighed, the breath lifting her bangs in the air for a few seconds. "No. If anyone saw the real me, I would be a joke. Or a complete disaster. Take your pick, really."

"C'mon Helga, everyone has...uh…a…uh…soft chewy center. Even you," he tried to reason. Helga laughed, the first genuine laugh he heard from her in a long time, and it sent tingles down Arnold's spine. "Soft chewy center? That's funny and yet strangely accurate." She said, laughing again.

"Is that what you're scared of?" Arnold questioned, eyes softening. "I bet everyone would love the real you."

"Not everyone."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I…" Helga sighed again. "Putting yourself out there. It hurts. Life hurts," she explained.

"Helga, if this is about that night, on the rooftop—"

She interrupted. "Yes and no. It was, but it _wasn't_ about you. Arnold, that night changed everything. I was the real me and look where it got me. Nowhere. I'm like…like a wrecking ball. I ruin everything," she said dejectedly, covering her face with her hands. Her body was wracked with sobs, shaking uncontrollably. The sight of her scared Arnold; he had never seen her lose control this badly.

"Helga…Helga, look at me!" She shook her head, crying harder, and her breaths came fast and shallow. Arnold wrapped his arms around her and tried to meet her eyes.

"Helga! Look at me! Please! Helga, you can't keep being like this," he pleaded. "You're just…you're just _existing_. You say that I don't know the real you, but I've seen her before. She's witty and kind, loyal and…and beautiful and all kinds of other great things. And the real Helga would kick your butt and tell you to stop. She would tell you to do more than exist. Be _real_. Be of this world. Yeah life hurts, but you don't stop living because of the pain. You can't just curl up and shut out the world." He laughed bitterly, the sound brittle and foreign on Helga's ears coming from Arnold. "Believe me, I've tried. "

The unspoken was almost tangible between them. Helga's sobs began to subside. She was still crying, silent tears that came hard and fast.

Helga was the first to speak. "Where do you go?" she said so softly that Arnold could barely hear her over the roar of the ocean around them.

"What do you mean, Helga?" Arnold said, wiping her tears away with his shirttail. He studied her face. Despite the tears that fell, she was the prettiest he had ever seen her. She truly was beautiful. They stared at each other, Arnold almost drowning in her blue eyes. He smelled her hair, the smell of lavender and vanilla. Arnold didn't expect it to smell so sweet.

"When life hurts, where do you go?" Helga repeated, turning her face to his. The tearstains on her cheeks sparkled by moonlight.

Arnold looked up at the sky. "On the rooftop. Or here," he said quietly. "Someplace open so I can see the stars, where I can just think, and just _be_. So I can feel small, in a good way. To remind myself that there is more out there than just me and my hurt, and that people have cried far longer than I've been alive over things that I'll never understand. Sometimes it helps."

"And when it doesn't?" her voice was tiny.

Arnold smiled sadly. "I haven't figured that out yet

The pair sat in silence for a while, gazing at the stars and just being together. Arnold still held her, almost as if she were breakable, and for once, Helga didn't shove him off of her. In fact, she nestled deeper into his embrace. In the aftermath of Helga's breakdown, he felt strangely content holding her. It felt right. It felt like…like _home._ Arnold inwardly paused after that thought. He would have never paired the notion of home and Helga G. Pataki, but it fit. Like puzzle pieces. He had found another, rather unexpected, puzzle piece, and he was almost ready to accept it.

They sat like that for what seemed like hours. Finally, Arnold told himself that the night needed to end. Although there was no school tomorrow, he had the feeling that tomorrow was going to be a full day. "Helga," he whispered softly. She looked up at him with wide eyes full of contentment, mirroring his internal sense of it, for the time being anyway. He smiled. "Helga, I have to go. I need to get back. Grandpa will be worrying about me soon." He reluctantly let her go to stand up. Helga remained seated, her arms wrapped around herself, replacing his.

"Ok. See you tomorrow." she said. Her face closed, was replaced with the indifferent mask that he was used to seeing.

"Helga, don't you need to go home too?" He squatted beside her.

"No."

"Huh?"

"No," she repeated firmly. "I don't need to go home."

Arnold sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't just leave you here."

"Sure you can. Just walk away." She gave him a small smile. Arnold shook his head. "I can't."

"Why not?" she questioned

"Helga, I just can't. It's not right. Something bad could happen here if I leave you by yourself," he stated.

Helga snorted derisively. "Bad things can happen anywhere. Even home."

Arnold gave her a questioning look. She avoided his gaze, stood up and started to walk away. "Fine. I'll go."

Arnold stood up as well. "I'll walk you home." He started to follow her, then stopped.

"Helga?"

She turned to face him. Not for the first time that night, the sight of Helga made him catch his breath. In that moment, she looked nothing like the "bully with a heart of gold" that Arnold likened her to. Her face was so forlorn that Arnold couldn't help but think that she looked like the loneliest girl in the world. Acting on pure instinct, Arnold crossed the few feet between them and gave her a giant bear hug, squeezing her tightly. Helga twisted away from him and doubled over, whimpering in pain.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" he said, alarmed at this unexpected response. He bent down beside her. Helga's shirt rode up, and in the streetlight, Arnold noticed something on her skin. He pulled her shirt up, exposing her back and the collection of bruises that mottled her skin.

He made a strangled noise and stepped away.

Helga wouldn't look at him.

Just as Arnold opened his mouth to speak, a shadow fell over them.

"Hello, Mr. Shortman, Miss Pataki."

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><p><strong>Thank you for being patient with the story! More has been revealed, but I can't give it all away yet! <strong>

**I do have a bit of a homework assignment for you, dear reader. Please Google the image "Don Draper." Then, go to Youtube and listen to Ed Westwick's voice…he is a native Brit and his voice (either the British or American accent) will be the voice of the character. When I was writing this character, this is what I pictured.  
><strong>

**I will try to update next week as best I can; I am in the process of moving, and I have a dance recital coming up (last one for a while!), so I'm swamped with packing boxes and rehearsals until about this time next week.**

**Please leave a review; I love to read your comments! **


	9. Whoever Battles With Monsters

**A/N: Did you do the homework from the last assignment? I hope so! This chapter represents a turning point in the story; it will get darker, and from here on out, I will go ahead and rate it M due to anticipated content in later chapters. **

**Disclaimers: I do not own HA! as it belongs to Craig Bartlett and Nickelodeon. The numbers mentioned from the second season of "Lost" and are property of JJ Abrams and ABC. First italicized quote is from ****Friedrich Nietzsche's book "Beyond Good and Evil," and contains the title of the chapter. ****Second italicized quote is from William Butler Yeats' poem "The Second Coming," and contains the title of the story. I don't own any of those things.**

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><p><strong>Whoever Battles with Monsters...<br>**

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><p>"Hello Mr. Shortman, Miss Pataki," the man said. His face was half-hidden by the fedora he wore on his head that covered slicked back hair that was dark as the night itself; the rest of his angular face was covered in shadows. He was tall, and was wearing a black trench coat over a dark pinstriped suit. The man's shoes shone in the dark. He looked down at the children.<p>

"Who are you?" Arnold questioned warily. He moved to stand in front of Helga, eyeing the man as if assessing his threat level. The man saw this and cocked an eyebrow in amusement, but said nothing about it.

"Of course… you wouldn't recognize me. I'm Smith. Giles Smith, I live in the boarding house," he held out his hand, but Arnold eyed him suspiciously and did not take it. Smith let the hand drop.

"How do I know it's you?"

"If your Grandma doesn't push the button every 108 minutes with the code '4, 8, 15, 16, 23 and 42,' she believes that the boarding house will explode." he stated patiently.

Arnold rolled his eyes in assent. "Ok. What are you doing here?"

"Attending to…business. What are you doing?"

"Talking," Arnold said shortly. He glanced up at Mr. Smith, who nodded slowly, his eyes skimming over Helga and stepped closer. He bent down to her level, staring into her eyes. "_Whoever battles with monsters had better see that it does not turn him into a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you_." he murmured, lost in thought. Suddenly, he straightened up and glanced around.

"We need to leave," Smith said with a note of urgency in his voice.

"We were just going to…" Arnold started, but Smith held up his hand.

"No, I mean now." He glanced at Helga, who had stood silently throughout the exchange. "Miss Pataki, you will be staying at the boarding house tonight, yes?" Smith's tone indicated that it was not really a question, but more of a command masked in query. Helga seemed to understand and nodded mutely.

Smith motioned with his hand. "Let us go, then." Arnold glared at him, grabbed Helga's hand and began walking. Smith brought up the rear. Arnold occasionally looked back at him and for some reason did not feel comforted to have the man at his back. He noted that Smith's pace was unhurried, but his eyes examined every shadow they encountered along the silent walk back to the boarding house.

Arnold felt Helga's hand grip his very tightly. He glanced over at her and saw that she her face was carefully arranged into the blank mask she put on since Smith appeared. Arnold opened his mouth to talk but Helga shook her head and motioned towards Smith. He nodded, thankful that he wasn't the only one that distrusted this tall, dark and handsome stranger. Although he had roomed in the boarding house for years, hardly anything was known about Smith, and Arnold's hair had been standing on end ever since the man stepped out of the shadows to greet them.

When they reached the stoop, Smith stopped and turned to them. "Promise me that you won't go near there after sundown." He directed the request at both of them, but eyed Arnold, his eyes boring holes into the blonde haired boy. Arnold squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Promise me. You do not know what monsters lurk in the shadows on these dark nights. Things not even Monkeyman can, or will, do battle with." Smith looked at him unwaveringly, waiting.

"Fine." Arnold said muttered, and turned to go into the boarding house with Helga. Smith grabbed his shoulder gently, pulling Arnold aside.

"Get Miss Pataki to bed, then return to the dining room with haste," he murmured. "We have much to discuss, Mr. Shortman."

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><p>Arnold quietly led Helga by the hand upstairs to his room and switched on his lamp; he didn't feel like facing the harsh glare of his dome light. He turned to Helga, who had collapsed to the floor as if her legs couldn't hold them anymore.<p>

"Helga, who did this to you?"

She averted her gaze and looked down at her hands.

"Helga…" Arnold tried to reach out to touch her, but she flinched. He dropped his hand. "It was Bob, wasn't it," he said in a flat voice.

Helga looked at him and was silent, but that was more than enough for him.

Arnold felt a rage he didn't know he had; it roiled through him, a hot rage that threated to destroy. His balled his fists up and closed his eyes. Thoughts of Bob flashed through his mind like pictures in a slide show: him hitting Helga, _hurting_ her. And the signs, they were there, weren't they? The other day with the "bee sting" and the scrapes, the long clothing, the disinterest, the…_everything_. How…could he have not connected the dots? Arnold's breaths suddenly came in shallow gasps, making him feel lightheaded and he didn't feel his fist connecting with the wall until it was over and he heard Helga's strangled gasp. The pulsating pain came as a surprise to him. He opened his eyes and saw his bloody fist in a new hole in the wall, then looked at Helga. Her tear filled blue eyes were wide, looking at him as if she had never seen him before. Arnold caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and was taken aback at what he saw: a shaking hand covered in blood and bits of drywall, chest heaving, wild, almost feral eyes. He sagged against the wall, all of his energy leaving him in a flood.

He looked at Helga. "Hey, Helga…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get like that. I wasn't thinking. I just want to know who hurt you, that's all." He sat down across from her, hesitated, then asked to see them. It wasn't done out of morbid curiosity, but the sheer need to understand the magnitude of what she had just told him.

She took off her turtleneck, rolled up her jean legs, then slowly lifted up her camisole to reveal her stomach. Arnold gently traced them with his fingertips and looked at Helga. She looked very small to him in the lamplight, fragile. He had never thought that fragile would be a word to describe Helga, but it fit nonetheless. She looked away and shivered when he made contact with her skin. He could see the old ones mixed with newer, fresher ones that blossomed across her skin. He saw cuts, raw and scabbed over, in large patches, and grotesque sets teeth marks decorated her shoulders. Hurt radiated in her eyes and behind that…fear.

He leaned down and gently kissed the bruises and cuts, each and every one he could see: on her stomach, her arms, legs and the one on her wrist. Helga inhaled sharply and sat still, closing her eyes. When Arnold was done, he could see the tears on her face. He wiped them away. "I've heard kisses make it better. I-I don't think in this case, but it can't hurt to try, right?"

Helga gave him a small smile. "It felt a little better."

He reached out and took her hand. "You can sleep up here, with me. You up for a shower?"

She nodded and Arnold helped her up off the floor and gathered clothes for her to change into. He led the way to the bathroom holding her hand the whole way. "When you're done, go up to my room, and we'll talk some, ok?" he cupped her cheek and she nodded. Arnold waited until he heard the roar of the shower to depart.

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><p>Arnold made his way downstairs to the dining room, his mind spinning with Helga's revelation. He saw Smith seated at the dining room table, cloaked in shadows once more. The smoke from his cigarette floated gracefully from the glowing tip. Arnold slid into a seat across from him, and folded his arms impatiently, coughing pointedly. "Can we make this quick? I need to go back up to Helga."<p>

Smith ignored him and took a drag from his cigarette, making no move to put it out. He didn't mention Arnold's hand. The pair sat in silence for a while, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall. Arnold couldn't shake the feeling that Smith was evaluating him, measuring him, and found him wanting. Arnold frowned after realizing this. Smith noticed it and leaned forward towards Arnold. "The city is restless, Mr. Shortman. It is as if a beast has been awakened from a long slumber since the city was spared," he said finally.

"What are you talking about?" Arnold demanded.

"You should have let the city die." Smith sat back, awaiting and expecting the vehement denial.

Arnold shook his head wildly. "No!" he said firmly, banging his fist against the table. "My grandparents, my friends, they would have had to leave their homes, we would have never seen it again, and businesses would have closed down forever…."

Smith held up a hand to stop him. "You don't like change, do you? Such chaos so early in life often creates a strong need for stability, does it not?" he said with a touch of amusement. "Alas, such is the way of life. Things must change, to make room for new things, new situations. And in some cases, things _must_ fall apart." Smith took a drag of cigarette, flicked the ashes and looked somewhere past Arnold into the darkness. His steel grey eyes grew soft. "_Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;/Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world_ . Such is the case of Hillwood. A city 'saved' from destruction, yet falling apart at the seams at a rapid rate. Do not tell me that you can't see it. The decay, the disarray." He met Arnold's eyes again. "This city was meant to burn and rise from the ashes; you have impeded that process."

Arnold shook his head in disagreement. "You don't understand, Mr. Smith. _You_ weren't here, or maybe you were, I don't know. Or really care. I would do the same thing again. Over and over again, I would choose the same thing. That man was evil." He glared at Smith.

"_You_ don't understand, Mr. Shortman. You thought _Scheck_ was evil? Compared to those that I must deal with, he is a kitten. He was a figurehead, so to speak. I will assume you know what that is."

Arnold's glare intensified. "Don't insult my intelligence. I'm pretty smart. He needed to be stopped, and no one was stepping up to the plate. I did what I _had_ to do to protect this city."

Smith's gaze sharpened. "Who were you to play God? To decide what should be saved, or spared? What was the cost of this? Do you know? You had _no_ knowledge of forces greater than yourself that are at work." Smith extinguished his cigarette, lit another one. "Your Helga is in the eye of the storm, as you may have seen, and it is a powerful one," he remarked. "Bigger than you can imagine. On this, I neither lie nor bend the truth. A luxury my line of work rarely affords me."

"Why do you care?" Arnold swallowed down a small ball of guilt at the harsh words and found himself disliking Smith more and more with each passing minute, each word that was exchanged.

"I do not care for the sacrifice of innocence, and your Helga has sacrificed much for you, things known and unknown." Smith frowned as if Arnold overstepped some invisible boundary.

"What should you suggest I do then, Mr. Smith?" Arnold forced politeness into his voice, with great effort, and hoped that this conversation would end soon.

He crushed his cigarette. "Go to the authorities. They will know what to do."

"No! She'll be taken away and I…"

"Won't see her again?" Smith finished. He leaned forward and stared into Arnold's angry green eyes. "Again, who are you to play God? This is a _life,_ Mr. Shortman," he finished forcefully. Smith's fists clenched and unclenched under the table in an effort to keep his composure.

Arnold pushed his face inches away from Smith's face. "I'm aware of that, _Mister_ Smith," he spat out.

The tension was so thick in the room it was almost tangible. Smith sighed and ran his hand over his face, strands from his slicked back black hair coming loose. He leaned back into the chair heavily. "Go to the authorities, before it intensifies," he said warily. "Mark my words, Mr. Shortman; the days will get darker for your Helga if you do not intervene."

"I can take care of her…"

"But not in the way that she needs," he interjected. "I would go myself, but my current involvement in… certain situations prevent me from doing so. Do not play the hero. The situation is too precarious for risks such as this. Think on it, and let me know your decision."

Smith slid a business card across the table to Arnold, blank, save for a single phone number on it. "I must leave tonight and it will be days before I am able to return. This number is where I can be reached. Leave a message and I will respond within the hour." He stood up and walked around the table and over to Arnold, who sat fuming and glared ahead.

"You do not trust me with your Helga, do you?" Smith said softly. "I _am_ looking out for her best interests."

Arnold snorted. "Well it seems like when it comes to _my_ Helga, adults can't be trusted to look out for her best interests. _Excuse me_ for being wary," he snapped.

Smith bowed his head and rubbed at his eyes, nodding in understanding. He clasped Arnold's shoulder. "Go to your Helga, Mr. Shortman. Do not keep her, or me, waiting."

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><p><strong>AN: The next chapter will be an interlude of sorts, so that I can explain what happened from Helga's POV. Not sure if it will be in first person or not. What do you think? Let me know. I will say that it's been a struggle to write thus far due to the content. From here on out, it'll be rated M. **

**Please, review! I would love to hear from you.  
><strong>


	10. Interlude: Rooftops and Mountaintops

**A/N: I have no excuses for the lateness that is this update! All I can say is that life got in the way and that my job (I work at a sleepaway camp for developmentally disabled children and adults) doesn't give me much free time to write or reply to the last reviews. I promise I will for this chapter. **

**So, yes, this story is about abuse, or part of it is. I don't know if I have told this or not (I think I did in a reply to a review, but not the main story, I can't remember) that a lot of the children I work with have been abused in some way. I have also, and this story has been cathartic. I want to thank you all for being so kind in the reviews and PMs that I have received; they make me feel so much better. It's a heavy subject, and it's probably really why this chapter really took so long. It's hard stuff to write about and it brings up bad memories about things that I have heard, studied, and even experienced to some extent. What goes on here is a combination of all those things, and the bulk of it came out in one night. **

**Part of the title of the story comes from the Melissa McClelland song, "Rooftops." I listened to it on repeat, and it is a truly depressing song. Fits the mood of the chapter. I urge you to youtube it. If you're a Degrassi fan, it was played during Rick's funeral, I think. **

**Without further ado…**

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><p><strong>Rooftops and Mountaintops<strong>

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><p><em>I kinda lied when I said I knew what a figurehead was, but I looked it up after he left and it confused me some more. If I understand it right, then that meant that Sheck didn't have that much power and someone else was behind everything. But what did it have to do with Helga? <em>

_By the time I came back upstairs, Helga was passed out from sheer exhaustion. I didn't wake her. I just sat against the side of the bed near her head and cried for what seemed like hours. I felt really stupid; I mean, I should have saw it, right? If I was really her friend, I would have known and not had to keep asking. I really am dense. _

_I went back down to the dining room to see if Mr. Smith was still there to get more answers, but he was gone. I had the business card, but I didn't call him. I wasn't lying then when I told him that I didn't trust him, but unfortunately, he seemed like my best option at the time._

_I don't think I slept that night at all. _

_I waited for Helga to wake up, and had breakfast ready. It was the least I could do. Over scrambled eggs and toast, she told me what happened. I don't think I can look at them the same way again; Helga mixes ketchup in with her eggs and it made this sickly looking color that matched one of her bruises. _

_I didn't tell her that though._

_I called her to ask if I could tell you in the assignment. She said yes, but that it needed to be in her words. It's kinda long, but she said that she is "naturally verbose and a Football-Head like me wouldn't get everything in anyway." So below is what she told me, starting from right after she saved the neighborhood._

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><p>Helga slipped quietly in the dark house and shed her trenchcoat. She quietly made her way up to her room, dressed for bed and laid down.<p>

Then and only then would she let the tears fall. She would forever hate the phrase "heat of the moment."

She didn't hear the conversation on the other side of the wall.

"B, what are we going to do?" Miriam whispered frantically. Her and Bob were laying side by side in bed, in shock at the fact that the neighborhood was saved.

Bob shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, hun. I don't know," he replied wearily.

"How much do we have in savings?"

He looked at the ceiling, trying to calculate the figures in his head. "About $23,000. We would be short $127k." Bob looked at his wife. "We're in deep shit, Miriam."

Miriam huffed. "I know that, B. I may be a drunk but I'm not stupid." She paused for a minute. "I could go back to work at the store. I still have some of my main contacts, and if we can pull in some contracts, move some money around…" she trailed off.

After a moment, Bob spoke. "You think that will work?"

"It has to. We _can't_ not pay them back."

The two sat in silence for a while. "You think Lars knows about this?" Bob questioned.

"Of course he does. He probably has a couple of contingency plans being put into motion as we speak." Miriam said. "How did this happen? It was a sure thing, this expansion."

"I don't know," he repeated. "But we need to act fast and go to them before _he_ finds _us."_

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><p>In the days that followed the heroic saving of the neighborhood, Bob began to do damage control, talking to various media outlets and attending charity events. At night, he disappeared and didn't return for hours. Miriam donned her power suit and worked at the beeper emporium again, pulling long hours. Once again, her personality shifted from forgetful and lethargic to sharply focused. Sometimes, Miriam would look at Helga as if she were some alien being, confused by her presence. Helga felt that way about her, too, watching her silently as she breezed in and out the door, chatting on her cell and shooting quick asides to Helga. Often, the house was empty before Helga awoke and long after she went to sleep. Helga didn't bother to go down the emporium to beg for her mother back. She knew better, now. Whatever it was, she knew not to interfere.<p>

Helga herself had endured countless award ceremonies and speeches congratulating Arnold and Gerald and she was getting annoyed. After another speaker came to the school to discuss 'Doing The Right Thing,' a variation on the same theme she had been hearing for weeks, Helga stormed out the classroom at the first ring of the final bell. Phoebe was hot on her heels and finally caught up with the tall blonde girl a block from the school. Helga didn't even turn around when she heard the slightly fast breaths of her dark-haired friend behind her.

"Criminey, Pheebs, those two jackos think they can hijack a bus and be put in the Hillwood Hall of Fame without me?" she fumed, pulling at her pigtails in frustration.

Phoebe walked beside her friend. "Well, Helga, if I recall correctly, you wished to remain anonymous throughout the whole endeavor." She paused, as though uncertain about asking the question she was about to pose. "Might I ask why? You deserve the accolades as much as they do," she reminded Helga softly.

Helga deflated. "I just wanted Arnold to know that I could be good too, ya'know? I could be the do-gooder, just like him. And yeah, it was to impress Arnold at first and to keep him here, but I really did want to keep the neighborhood. And I thought that after I confessed, he would…I don't know…see me for what I really am?" she turned toward Phoebe and smiled sadly. "Didn't work though. It's the same as it ever was."

Phoebe grabbed Helga's hand. "But don't you see, Helga? It's not. You helped accomplish something that not even most adults can say they have done: change their community irrevocably. You did that for someone you love, and that takes great courage." Phoebe adjusted her glasses. "I admire you for that, and so should Arnold. And your parents."

Helga screeched to a halt. "Wait a minute Phoebe, let's pump those brakes right there. Don't you remember I went against Big Bob? The man who would do anything for his _precious_, aka beepers?" she spat out. She resumed walking. "He would probably sell his firstborn child. Scratch that, he would never give up _Ol-ga._ But he would wash his hands of me in a heartbeat." She rolled her eyes and balled her fists, glowering at the ground.

"_HELGA!"_

"Well, it's true."

Phoebe shook her head. "You would be surprised at how they would react, Helga. Give them a chance." She looked at Helga. "Tell them," she said firmly.

The two walked in silence until they reached Helga's doorstep. Helga walked up the stone steps, but then stopped and turned around. Her cheeks were tinted pink, a blush that went with uncertain words.

"Do…Do you think that they would be proud of me?" Her words were directed at the ground, but Phoebe could hear the hope in them.

Phoebe skipped up the steps and wrapped Helga into a bone-crushing hug. "Of course they would, Helga."

Helga gave her a watery smile. "I hope so, Pheebs."

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><p>Helga got her chance that very evening; both of her parents happened to be home extra early, and even ate dinner together. Yes it was takeout Chinese, but Helga didn't want to complain. She chewed her chow mein thoughtfully, trying to figure out the best way to tell them, when it suddenly slipped out. "ihelpedsavetheneighborhoodtoo."<p>

Miriam's silverware clattered to the floor. The room got dangerously quiet.

"What did you just say, Olga?" Bob said in a strangled voice

"I SAID, that I helped Arnold and Gerald save the neighborhood. What does it matter, anyway? And it's _Helga,_ Father Dearest." She frowned and looked defiantly at her parents.

Miriam gaped at her and slowly turned towards Bob, whose face slowly filled with horror. Helga looked around at them, annoyed. "Geez, don't have a cow-"

She was cut off by the sharp sting that now nestled in her cheek. She hadn't even seen Miriam's hand dart out. Helga looked at astonishment at her mother. "You…you hit me."

Miriam's eyes were ablaze with fury. "You stupid, idiotic child. You have no idea what you have done, do you? You stupid child."

Helga's face flushed in anger. "Hey, _Miriam,_ I'm not stupid!"

Miriam jumped up and dragged Helga from her seat by the collar and brought her to eye level. Helga realized just how scary it was on the receiving end.

Bob jumped up, "Miriam, calm down, just calm-"

"No!" she roared, swiveling her head to face him. "Either your with me or not, B. You know what's at stake here."

Bob bit his lip, then nodded. He took a couple steps back, his eyes not leaving the two. Miriam looked back at her youngest daughter, who was now shaking in fear.

"What exactly did you do?"

"I'm not telling you."

"WHAT DID YOU DO, HELGA GERALDINE?" Miriam's face was a deep shade of red, and her eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets.

Although Helga was terrified to the core, she refused to back down. ".."

Miriam shook her roughly until Helga was certain she saw stars. "You have single-handedly damned this family, Helga. We are _fucked_ because of you!" she spat out lowly. Helga flinched at the curse word, and closed her eyes.

"Open your eyes, now." Miriam commanded. Helga obeyed instantly.

"Why would you go against this family? We would have everything…we could have moved out of this dump, to better things. Whatever the reason, it better be good."

Helga gulped. "Well, you see, there's this guy, Arnold…"

Bob facepalmed. "Not that football-headed kid again, girl!"

Helga scowled at him. "Well he was going to move away and I couldn't lose him!"

Miriam scoffed. "She said he was going to move away," She said, as if speaking to an unknown audience, shook her head, then suddenly launched Helga across the room. Helga hit the wall with a thud and slowly slid down.

"_MIRIAM!"_

Miriam walked slowly to Helga, who was struggling to stand. Miriam's fist came towards Helga fast and hard, leaving her sprawled out on the floor. Blood trickled from various places and pooled from her prone body. Miriam turned towards Bob, who was standing in shock.

"I did _not_ go back to work there to try to turn everything around just to find that this…this girl…ruined it. It was one thing for a couple of kids to foil Scheck, who should have never been there in the first place, but what will Lars do when he finds out about this?"

Bob visibly paled. Miriam shook her head disgustedly, at both her husband and daughter. "I will say this one time: do not interfere with me. Do you understand?"

Bob nodded.

"We need to figure out exactly what she did, and how she did it. She will tell us. Even if I have to beat it out of her." Miriam stalked over to Helga and roughly pulled her up by her arm.

"You are to not see that boy again, got it?" she shouted.

"No!"

Another crack sent Helga back down to the ground. She looked up at her mother through rapidly swelling eyes. Miriam stood over her. "You will do as I say. And I say you will not talk to him anymore."

"But…I love him."

Miriam laughed, a short bark that sent shivers through Helga. "You _love_ him? You did all of this because you _love_ him? Let me guess, you did it in a pathetic attempt to win his heart, dramatically confessed, only to have it rejected, right?"

Helga closed her eyes.

Miriam laughed again. "Sweetie," she said in a sickly sweet voice, "he will never love you." Her voice suddenly hardened and she determinedly strode up the steps without another word.

Helga slowly sat up and saw Bob's gaze shifting from the direction of the stairs to a spot somewhere near Helga. "Bo-Dad? Why didn't you help me?" she asked weakly.

Bob's jaw clenched and he stared at a spot somewhere above Helga's head.

"Daddy?"

Miriam swept into the living room just then with Helga's journals in a large cardboard box. Bob walked out the room wordlessly. Minutes later, a loud voice floated in from the living room television. Helga cried tears she didn't know she was holding back. Miriam's voice brought her back.

"Give me the locket, Helga."

"Mom, no…"

Miriam stared at her. "I know you have it on. Hand it over now, or I will take it. I know all about it, and the journals, and the shrines, too."

Helga wordlessly took the locket off and handed to her. Miriam dropped it in the box full of small pink journals and produced a lighter. Before Helga could stop her, Miriam took one of the delicate journals and lit it on fire, then dropped it into the rest of the box.

"He will never love you, Helga. Never." Miriam's voice was hard, the tone foreign to Helga's ears. "Watch it burn."

Helga unwillingly watched years of love disappear in a matter of minutes. Miriam stared at the dancing flames as if in a trance. "You will not see him. You will tell me exactly how and what you did." She looked at Helga. "You cannot play God and ignore the consequences, Helga. Go get your shrines. We're not done here."

* * *

><p>Helga slowly trudged up to her room and closed the door behind her. She quietly got dressed for bed, then sat at her vanity and undid her pigtails. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Helga almost screamed. Her eyes were bruised and looked swollen, her lip was split. Her right cheek bore the imprint of her mother's hand. The trickling sensation, blood, Helga realized, had started from the crown of her head and wrapped its way to the side of her neck. As she undid her bow, she noticed that it was clean, stared at the bow for a long time, then got up and placed it on the highest bookshelf, out of sight. It was the one thing she had left, and she had to protect it.<p>

In the days that followed, as the spring days bled into the first days of summer, Helga would think of that pink bow as the blows rained down on her, and it gave her strength to keep her silence. When Miriam gave up early one day and left her alone for a week, Helga thought she won the battle.

She was brushing her hair one night when Miriam came in. Helga tensed, but spied no objects in Miriam's hand; she usually came prepared. Miriam moved behind her and wordlessly took the brush from Helga and continued.

"You know, Helga, I thought you would have cracked by now. I really did. I can't deal with you anymore, so you're going to your Nana's house. In North Carolina."

Helga remained silent and didn't expect the crack from the brush, or the rush of blood that came. Her hand flew to slow the bleeding.

Miriam threw the brush down and walked towards the door, pausing at the doorframe. Her cold, pale eyes met Helga's in the mirror. "When you get back, you will be dealt with the same way. Don't think we will forget."

Early the next morning, Helga's parents simply dropped her off at the airport; Bob didn't even put the car in park. He let the car, idle by the curb. Helga hopped out and got her luggage from the backseat of the car. A single suitcase held a few of her clothes, and a blank journal. When she turned around to say goodbye, Bob was already gone, his black car lost in the masses.

* * *

><p>Helga was met at the baggage claim by a large woman with white hair piled on top of her head and a soft pink dress that fell to her ankles. Her blue eyes, the same shade as Helga's, and Miriam's, were crinkled at the corners and looked kindly at her. Helga let out a sigh she didn't know she was holding. She at least <em>looked<em> friendly.

The woman eveloped Helga in a hug. She stiffened and didn't return it, as she was used to touches that were not as kind.

The woman released her and eyed Helga critically. "You'll do, I suppose. I'm your Grandma Erma. You can call me Nana, but only when we're by ourselves. In public, you will address me as Grandma Erma or ma'am. Understood?"

Helga nodded. "Yes, ma'am." She liked the singsong way that Grandma Erma spoke, so different from how everyone spoke in Hillwood, with the exception of Stinky, whose voice just grated on the ears.

Grandma Erma nodded approvingly. "Well, you're a fast learner at least. Got that from our side of the family, thank the Lord. Come along, we got a lot of miles to cover yet."

Helga nodded and followed the woman out of the small airport and to a bright pink hatchback. They wordlessly got in, and by the time they had left the parking lot, Helga had fallen fast asleep into the first dreamless sleep she had in months. She awoke hours, at twilight, to the car settling in front of a large house nestled into the side of a big hill. They went into the house, Grandma Erma chatting the whole way, pointing out this feature, or that.

Finally, Grandma Erma led Helga down a hallway and pushed open a door. "This'll be your room."

Helga looked around the small room. It was almost Spartan in its decorum: a single twin bed, a desk, and a dresser were all pushed up against various walls. She set her suitcase down and sat on the floor. This was supposed to be a vacation. So why did it feel like a prison cell? Grandma Erma stood in the doorway, her heavy frame blocking half of it.

"You don't need much here. We're simple folk 'round here. No need for television and all. All you need is the Good Book. And maybe some knitting needles." Grandma Erma remarked, seeing the confused look on Helga's face.

"The Good Book?" Helga questioned.

Grandma Erma rolled her eyes. "The Bible, chile! The Bible! What is my daughter and that no good…soandso…teachin' you up there?"

Helga shrugged and dropped her eyes to the ground. "I don't know," she said softly.

The two sat in silence for a while. Grandma Erma spoke up first. "Well, we go to church twice on Sunday, once on Wednesday, and I hold my Ladies' bible study every Tuesday. You will be expected to attend all of these things, as well as help out with chores around the house. No exceptions. You understand?"

Helga nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. I'll leave you to get settled." Grandma Erma shuffled down the hall and left Helga alone, who wondered what she was supposed to settle in to.

* * *

><p>Life with Grandma Erma settled into a comfortable routine: morning prayers, breakfast, morning chores, Bible Studychurch, lunch, afternoon chores, more Bible study, and free time until dinner. Or some variation. Helga walked along the dirt roads, or sat on the porch and thought. She didn't talk much either, and didn't realize it until Grandma Erma called her out on it during Tuesday bible study. She had been sitting in a corner, quietly following along, when Grandma Erma suddenly interrupted Miss Bessie's rather dry interpretation of Job.

"Chile, you ain't got nothin' to say?"

Helga was confused. "Ma'am?" She had learned quickly that she was to address her grandmother, and every other woman, 3 years older than her as "ma'am" and "sir" for the men.

Grandma Erma frowned. "You been in this house for close to three weeks and ain't say nary a word. Now why is that?"

Helga paused. "I…I suppose that I don't have nothing worthwhile to say, is all. Nothing that you want to hear."

Miss Anne, a birdlike woman that was partial to wearing yellow, tutted. "You have a darkness around your throat. A thick darkness."

The other three women immediately leaned in and sharply gazed at the young girl, who resisted the urge to cover her throat."The Lord has blessed me with the sight to see such things," she said in an aside to the women, who rolled their eyes. Miss Anne happened to say this at every meeting.

"And that darkness is growing thicker. What happened to you, what made you so afraid to speak?" Miss Anne continued. Her eyes narrowed in Helga's direction, not unkindly, but Helga shrank back nonetheless.

"You're a good girl, Helga. Rough around the edges, that's for sure, but you're a good girl. Don't let that darkness swallow you up."

Helga's mouth dropped open.

"That's enough, Annie," Grandma Erma snapped. "Leave this chile alone." Her angry gaze made Ms. Anne avert her eyes. "Helga, I believe that the kitchen floor needs to be scrubbed."

Helga nodded and fled the room, grateful for the distraction. She didn't notice that as she practically fled the room, her hand flew up to her throat, fingers frantically searching.

When Grandma Erma had finally shown the last guest to the door, she found Helga distractedly gazing at nothing. She stood there quietly until she couldn't take it anymore.

"Scrub harder, girl, scrub harder," Grandma Erma said. Her yellow eyes watched Helga go over the same patch of wood that she had been scrubbing for the past 15 minutes. "Cleanliness is next to godliness, and you need all of the Holy Spirit you can get," she chuckled.

Helga paused for a minute and looked at Grandma Erma seriously. "Do you think…do you think that God forgives you for things that you didn't know were wrong when you did them? That you thought you were doing the right thing by helping someone you loved and had the best intentions…well, not at first, but eventually, and doing that hurt people that you, uh, love?" Helga knew that aiding Arnold was for selfish reasons, but she came to think that what Scheck, and ultimately, her father, was doing was wrong. And after everything that had happened, she wanted to love them, her parents. But could you love people who hated you?

Grandma Erma gazed at her granddaughter heavily for a few minutes, with a heavy silence that hung over them. "I think that God knows your heart, and he will judge you accordingly, child," she said finally.

Helga nodded and looked at her hands. "I thought…I thought that I was doing something right. Something that would not only keep the person…and other people I care about the most close to me. But I just ended up making things worse." Her lake blue eyes filled with tears, and her shoulders slumped, tucking into herself. "I'm just a wrecking ball that destroys everything, no matter what I do. It's all wrong. _I'm_ all wrong."

She sat there silently, holding back the tears. Wordlessly, she began to scrub the same patch of wood again.

* * *

><p>3 weeks later, Helga sat on the ledge of the mountain. It had been the first thing that she had wanted to do upon setting foot in Grassy Knoll, and since Grandma Erma had given her the day to do what she wished, she immediately slapped on sunscreen and bugspray, packed a lunch and water, and headed to the mountain.<p>

She didn't know too much of the bible; Big Bob and Miriam never really took the family to church unless it was to impress a new client of Bob's, but Grandma Erma said that great things happened on mountains. Moses received the Ten Commandments, the Ark landed there, and Issac was offered to God on mountains. She hoped that something would happen up there.

Hillwood, with its hills made of landfills and spouts that jutted out to release the monoxide, didn't compare to what she saw lay below her. She stroked the beads that Grandma Erma had given her at the beginning of the summer. _"I'm not Catholic, not by a long shot, but something about those beads soothes a troubled mind. Use them to meditate, and the answer will come to you, yes it will. As sure as night it will come." _

And as Helga fingered the beads, a thought that had been niggling in the back of her mind floated to the forefront. _"Everything happens for a reason." _

Everything?

Her mind flashed through the hell that her life had been the past few months. She prided herself on keeping it together the rest of the school year, hiding it well behind her blustery exterior, and only falling apart in the quiet of the dark of her closet, where her sounds would be muffled.

Except for Arnold.

_It_ _always came back to Arnold._

And it hit her just then. Didn't Pastor Weakley just say this past Sunday that every sinner will get his just reward? That no one will escape their punishment, whether it is on this Earthly hell or the True Hell that will await them in the next life? His deep voice echoed in her head. Helga remembered squirming in the hard pew when she heard those words, but now she knew he spoke those words for her. She bowed her head.

And she…she was definitely a sinner. A sinner in the worst way. Miss Anne had said that the darkness would swallow her up. Maybe it already had, and she was just being nice by letting Helga believe that she had some sort of chance at redemption. Helga furrowed her brow. She knew that the way she acted towards everyone else, the bullying, the cutting remarks, the threats would catch up to her one day. She just didn't expect it to be like this.

Helga fingered the rosary beads and clenched them in her fist. This…this new life that she lead was her penance for her sins. Her punishment. Who was she to argue with how, and when and by whom, it was meted out? Who was she to fight back? She was a sinner. Pastor Weakley had said sinners do not deserve love or affection.

So, as a sinner, she didn't deserve Arnold. Good, sweet Arnold, full of love and light.

She never would.

Helga took out the last thing she let herself hold on to of her shrines that she carried around in her pocket. It was her first, a childish drawing of Arnold. She remembered gripping the crayons in her fists and coloring carefully, closing her eyes when she needed to remember specific details: the exact placement of his tufts of gold, how the greens of his eyes held on hers. Helga looked at it one last time. She needed to let go, let _him_ go.

Her hands made quick work of tearing it into bits, working frantically before she lost the will. "I'm sorry, my love," she whispered. With a gentle blow, she released the bits into the air. They danced gently before her, then dipped and dived below to the grassy valley floor. Helga watched them until they disappeared from her view.

She cried then, harsh tears and sobs that racked her body. She would pay for it, for as long as she needed to. She deserved nothing less.

* * *

><p>She arrived back in Hillwood the day before school started. When her parents were not there to pick her up from the airport, she reminded herself that this was to be expected; they had busy schedules. The house was empty when she returned.<p>

When her parents did not show up for dinner, she heated up ramen noodles and told herself that this was a chance to practice her cooking skills.

When Miriam appeared in her doorway later that night and raised her belt for the first of many blows, Helga braced herself and told herself that she deserved this.

After every slap, every sting that landed on her back and bottom and legs, she fingered the rosary under her shirt, silently praying that she would one day be forgiven.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It was always going to be Miriam, from the very beginning of the story, when I thought it out…really. I am surprised that no one threw that suggestion out there. Her personality really changed during that one ep when she worked at the beeper emporium and I went with that and amplified it. A lot. A lot of people automatically assumed Bob. Well, he is not the primary abuser, I guess. When you do nothing, like he did in this situation, it's just as bad.**

**I reread it and wonder if I should have included more Grandma Erma.  
><strong>

**The bit about the first shrine alludes to my story "Stay with me tonight." It just kind of slipped in there. Read it! It's super good =]**

**Also, forgive me if I got the idea of penance wrong. I am not Catholic and do not quite understand the concept, but felt that what I generally understood would fit well. Feel free to correct me, and I'll edit those corrections in the story. As far as the religion goes in the story, that is what I was taught when I was younger (my church was def. hellfire and brimstone) and I'm not trying to paint all religion like that. My particular experience just fit in this particular story. I don't mean to offend. **

**Please review! Even if you normally don't, please do so on this chapter. It was hard to write and I would love feedback. **


	11. Desperate Men

**Wow! I am absolutely blown away by the amount of PMs and encouraging words from all of you. It really made me feel so much better. As far as the accident…I broke both of my wrists, fractured my arm, and my legs were broken as well. Plus numerous other injuries. On the plus side, my doctor looked like Alex Karev! =] No, he don't fall in love with me =[**

**The worst part of the accident was being told that I would probably not be able to dance again, and that was devastating, but I'm going to prove those bozos wrong. **

**Anyway… This chapter changed the game, again, so I have to rethink the ending, **_**again.**_**It is nice to write, though. I wrote some of this before my accident, and the latter part just recently; I hope it doesn't sound disjointed! Title is actually original. Please excuse any spelling/grammatical/formatting errors. I will fix them.**

**Chapter 11: Desperate Men**

_Helga avoided me the next day like nothing happened. I would try to catch her eye, but she would stare right through me. I tried to act like it didn't hurt. A couple weeks went by without us really speaking, but then again, Helga didn't even really talk to Phoebe anymore. As we were walking into the school, an idea came over me. I caught up to Helga and pulled her into a janitor's closet._

"Arnold, what are you doing?" Helga hissed. He ignored her question and reached up to turn on the light. It cast a soft glow on the two children. Arnold wasn't sure if the shadows under her eyes were because of the dim light or something else.

"I needed to talk to you," he whispered, feeling as if he had been saying that a lot lately. Helga pointedly avoided his eyes.

"About what? You…you know everything now. All my secrets." She frowned and glared at the floor.

"What happened when you went home?"

Helga shrugged. "Nothing," she tried to say nonchalantly, but Arnold saw her shake ever so slightly.

He moved closer to her. "I need to see. To check and make sure. Lift up your shirt?"

"No!"

"If she's hurting you, I need to know!" Arnold's voice was close to a shout. Helga shut her eyes, then finally looked at them.

"Why? What can you do to help me? Huh?" He could see her fists start to ball up for the first time in weeks. Before he knew, he would have given anything to see Ol' Betsy readying herself for action.

Arnold had no answer.

"You can't be the hero all the time! There are some things that you can't fix, and this is one of them," she said harshly. Helga turned and began to walk away, the shaking more pronounced now. "You can't kiss it and make it better," she said in a softer tone. "I'll figure something out. Or…or maybe they'll lose interest. Or maybe if I started to get better grades, and didn't get in trouble, they would leave me alone. I brought it on myself, Arnold. I knew there would be hell to pay for helping you, somehow."

She turned around and gazed at him. "I'll do anything for you," she said softly.

"Why?" he croaked.

Helga gave him a small smile. "You know why." She fished in her pocket and came out with her pink ribbon. She wordlessly put in in his hand, opened the door and slipped into the hallway.

* * *

><p>Arnold made his way to the boy's bathroom unsteadily. He gently pushed the door open and found that, thankfully, no one was in there. He moved to the sinks to splash cold water on his face, and happened to catch his reflection in the mirror. His hair, a dull gold, fell in lank strands around his face, and his cap drooped. Arnold noticed the dark circles and bloodshot eyes. No wonder Rhonda had been so keen for him to accompany her to the spa the next time she went.<p>

The door swung open and Curly walked in, humming to himself. He stopped short when he saw Arnold.

"Um…you okay? You don't look so hot."

"I'm fine" Arnold answered shortly.

Curly shrugged. "If you say so." He made his way over to a urinal. "You figure out what's up with Pataki yet?" Arnold frowned.

"Not really."

Curly studied him out of the corner of his eye and Arnold squirmed. He was never one to make eye contact in the urinals, but Curly had this intense stare that unnerved him, yet urged him to return the gaze. "Look, Arnold, I know that we don't really talk and all, but Helga and I are friends, sort of. We have an understanding. And I bet that whatever's Helga's problem is, the source is Big Bob."

Arnold's glance swung to Curly. "What are you talking about?"

Curly paused, as if he was debating with himself. He sighed, then said, "Word on the street is that Big Bob is in trouble. That when the city was saved, he lost major money…and it wasn't his. He's got people looking for him. And he's got Mrs. Pataki managing the store while he rustles up some fast cash."

"And what if I don't believe you?" Arnold crossed his arms.

"The people I run with…they don't lie. We've had our eye on Mr. Pataki since it came up that he likes to use animals to test his products."

Curly paused. "Desperate men do all kinds of things they wouldn't normally do."

Arnold started shaking and Curly started to back up slowly. "Whoa man, you…"

Before he knew it, Arnold grabbed Curly by his collar and pinned him to the wall. "What else do you know. Tell me. Tell me now!" he yelled

"Ouch! I…I don't know anything else! I swear!" Curly wimpered

The bell rang just then, and Arnold blinked, his hold on the dark-haired boy gone. Curly slid down the wall, his brown eyes wide with something close to fear.

"Curly…Curly, I'm …"

The door banged shut before Arnold could finish.

"...sorry."

* * *

><p>"…and <em>that's<em> that _really_ happened at Roanoke Island." Sid finished triumphantly. He looked around as if expecting applause. Instead, there was silence so thick that you could cut with a knife, aside from the sniffling that Harold was trying to keep quiet.

After a couple of attempts, Mr. Simmons was able to speak. "Sid…what research materials did you use for your, ah, report? And how does it fit with the parameters of the assignment?"

"There's this really cool documentary called "Storm of the Century" that my mom let me watch when I was younger. It was a life-changing moment for me because I realized that evil was everywhere, and you have to have constant vigilance." *

"Sid, I'm pretty sure that it wasn't a documentary…."

Arnold tuned the conversation out and stared out the window. Sometimes, and Arnold knew that he was being unkind in his thoughts, he thought that Sid needed to talk to a counselor about his issues.

His hand slid in his pocket and fingered the now well-worn card that Mr. Smith gave him. It permanently resided in his pocket now, and he started the habit of touching it whenever he thought about Helga. Her words from earlier came back in a rush, and Arnold knew she was right. He was no hero, he couldn't fix it.

Could…could Mr. Smith fix it? Arnold admitted to himself that he probably had more resources at his disposal, some that Arnold didn't even know about.

But that would mean that Helga _his_ Helga (for in his mind, this was how he thought of her now) would be taken away from him.

Arnold's eyes wandered over to her. She had gotten even skinnier, and he noticed that she would tug on her sleeves when she was nervous. Her eyes would dart around, moving over the corners and shadows in a way that he recognized from Sid. Helga caught Arnold staring and frowned. He watched her scribble furiously on a piece of paper.

Arnold's attention was momentarily distracted by Mr. Simmons talking about an upcoming field trip, but was brought back by a paper wad hitting him in the face. Arnold glared at her, but stopped when he noticed that she was motioning for him to open the paperwad. He reluctantly opened the wad and read the message:

_You want to help me? Meet me by the nurse's office when lunch starts. _

He turned around and was about to question her, but the bell sounded and Arnold lost her in the pre-lunch rush.

* * *

><p>"Helga, where are we…"<p>

"Shh! First rule of eavesdropping is to make no sound. Barely breathe. Walk on the balls of your feet to minimize sounds," she whispered.

Arnold nodded. He wondered how she knew that, and when she used it.

"I saw Big Bob arguing with the secretary about seeing Wartz earlier." Helga frowned. "I don't know what it's about but I need to know what they're saying. You in?"

"How are we supposed to hear them?" he questioned.

"Follow me."

Helga opened the door to the supply closet next to the nurse's office. Arnold saw that she had already stacked books under a ladder and that it stopped under a heating duct. She scaled the ladder quickly and unscrewed the cover quickly (why did she have a battery operated screwdriver in her pocket?), then shimmied inside. Her head poked out. "Are you coming?"

"Um…are you sure this is safe?" he bit his lip nervously.

Helga rolled her eyes. "Either you do this with me or not. Since you keep insisting on helping me, I thought you should be along for the ride."

Arnold sighed and began to climb the ladder. Once he made it inside the duct, Helga hung halfway out, folded the ladder in half and swung it so that the books fell and looked like they fell from a shelf. She leaned the ladder against the wally, then adjusted the cover to appear like it was on. Arnold looked at her in awe.

"Heh….I've, uh…had practice with it. Now let's get moving." Helga nervously tugged at her collar.

Arnold smiled slightly, liking that the old Helga was shining through, at least for a little while.

After about five minutes of twists and turns, and Helga hissing at him to army crawl because he sounded like an elephant, they reached the area above Principal Wartz's office. They paused to listen, but could clearly hear the voices as Big Bob was currently engaged in a shouting match with Wartz.

"I need my daughter's files so we can go! What is the big freakin' deal?" he shouted. Big Bob's eyes bulged, and he was dangerously close to the principal.

Wartz didn't look ruffled in the least and stood, or rather sat, his ground at his desk. "Mr. Pataki, as I have stated, we need both parents to sign off on the transfer of a student, or at the very least a letter from absent parent or a judge, as well as an address of where the student will be enrolled. You simply cannot take the files; it is a breach of policy." He met Big Bob's gaze evenly.

"I DON'T WANT HER TO KNOW, YOU IDIOT! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! THIS IS NO TIME TO STICK TO POLICY!" The veins bulged in Bob's neck and threated to burst.

"And as I stated, I would still need both parents to sign off on it, or a judge. I have nothing more to say." Principal Wartz began to shuffle some papers on his desk, clearly dismissing the issue. "Good day, Mr. Pataki."

Bob roared in anger and lunged at Principal Wartz, who only managed to duck in time. Wartz dove for the floor and hid under the desk. "Call the police!" he yelled.

Bob seemed to come to his senses upon hearing 'police'. He glared at Principal Wartz huddled on the floor, then flung open the door with such force that it became unhinged. "I'm not done with you, Wartz!"

There was absolute silence from the outer office. A second later, the secretary, Mrs. Jenkins, rushed in.

"Are you alright, Principal Wartz? The police should be here momentarily…." She began to fuss about the office, straightening the mess on his desk and muttering about irresponsible parents. Principal Wartz sat in his chair, dazed. He looked at his secretary.

"Mrs. Jenkins, I may need new underwear."

* * *

><p>Helga sunk back against the wall of the duct. "What…what does this mean, Arnold?"<p>

Arnold shook his head. "I'm not sure."

His hands slid in his pocket and felt Smith's card. Maybe it was time to make a phone call.

* * *

><p><strong>Constance vigilance is a HP reference, and "Storm of the Century" is a really good movie based on a Stephen King novel. The group Curly mentioned, I imagine is like a really radical offshoot of PETA mixed with the FBI or something. Idk…it seemed like something he would do, ya know? He seems like an activist. <strong>

**So I will try to update whenever I can. I'm going to be taking a full load of summer classes and lots of PT.**

**Review please! I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas!**

**-A**


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